


That's All I Want To Do Right Now

by Modog34



Series: Talk Me Down [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Modog34/pseuds/Modog34
Summary: When Stiles goes missing, Scott enlists the help of the Hale pack. Derek, who is just trying to be a better alpha, can't help but feel a pull towards the hyperactive teen, and the wolf in him won't rest until Stiles is found.  Meanwhile, old and new threats appear in Beacon Hills to stir things up. Somewhere along the way, Derek and Stiles finally get their shit together.Featuring a competent Hale pack, a not entirely evil Peter, a  slightly less self centered Scott, an exasperated Sheriff, slow burn Sterek, and Stiles being unique in more ways than one.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Danny Mahealani/Jackson Whittemore, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Lydia Martin, Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Series: Talk Me Down [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850719
Comments: 54
Kudos: 262





	1. Chapter 1

Scott hopped off of his bike before it had even fully stopped, letting it fall to the ground. He tugged on the handle of the metal door but it was locked. He thought about knocking, but decided against it. Instead, he ripped the handle off so hard the door hung on it’s hinges, before taking off down the stairs, and entering the abandoned depot. 

“You couldn’t have knocked?” Isaac drawled, not looking up from the book he was reading. He was sitting sideways in a patchwork chair, one leg slung over the side. 

“Would you have opened the door for me if I did?” Scott replied, already knowing the answer.

“I would have barricaded the door to keep you out.” Erica was sitting on one end of a worn out couch, using the armrest to hold her hand steady as she painted her nails a dark crimson. Boyd sat on the other end doing his homework. None of them bothered to look up. 

“What are you doing here, Scott?” Derek asked as he came out of the train car and folded his arms. He could smell anxiousness on Scott. He knew his betas wouldn’t pick up on it. He had taught them how to track, but they were still learning how to read chemosignals. 

“I need your help.” Scott looked like he swallowed a lemon as he said it. 

Derek scoffed with a bitter smile. “Why would I help you after what you did?”

“Look,” he sighed. “I know we don’t really get along-”

“Understatement,” Isaac muttered. 

Scott glared at him before continuing. “I know that my plan of double crossing Gerard also meant double crossing you. And I am sorry that I forced you to give him the bite.” Derek looked away, willing himself to keep his anger in check. Scott could sense the tension in the room. The betas still kept their heads down, trying to look busy, but he knew they were eavesdropping. 

“I made mistakes, okay? But you haven’t been the nicest guy, either. You’ve threatened Lydia, Jackson,  _ Allison _ . So can we just...start over?”

Derek looked at Scott calculatingly. Scott did seem sincere, and his heart was steady the whole time. He genuinely seemed sorry. The old Derek, the innocent one that existed before the fire, would have easily forgiven the teenager, but that boy was long gone. Present Derek was an adult, and an Alpha, and forgiveness wasn’t something he could afford right now. He uncrossed his arms and sighed. 

“We can’t erase the past, Scott.”

Judging by Scott’s fallen face, that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. “No, but we can work together now. And maybe, in the future, we might actually be friends. There’s a lot about being a werewolf I don’t know. I’m never going to choose you as my Alpha, but I wouldn’t mind being allies.”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“There’s no time for you to think about it!” Scott’s eyes flashed gold and his heart raced. The anxiety that Derek smelled was turning into full blown panic. The wolf in him bristled, and instantly became more alert. Something bad had happened, and he needed to fight down the urge to make the beta submit. 

“What happened? What did you do?” he demanded.

The betas lost all pretense of acting busy and looked up. They may not have known what the feeling emanating from Scott was, but their instincts told them this was something to pay attention to. 

“It’s not about me. It’s about Stiles.”

Derek wasn’t surprised. The human was brave in a foolish kind of way. Too curious for his own good, and too damn smart, as well. He did think it was odd that Scott had come here alone. Stiles was usually the buffer, the sensible one. Derek actually wished he were here, to help smooth things out. 

“Okay. What did Stiles do?”

“Nothing.” Derek waited for Scott to continue, but he just stood there looking pleadingly at him, like he was supposed to be able to read his mind. 

“Get to the point, Mccall.” Erica growled, as her teeth started to get pointy. 

“He’s missing,” Scott said in a soft voice. 

“What?” Boyd perked up, looking slightly paled. He had an air of urgency about him, which was surprising, considering Boyd was always the collected one. 

“I said h-”

“We heard what you said. How do you know he’s missing?” 

“He didn’t come home last night. His dad called me this morning. He thought he just crashed at my place. We’ve been calling and texting him all day, and he hasn’t responded.”

“Do you two have sleepovers often?” Erica grinned salaciously, raising her eyebrows. 

“Sometimes.”

“Wow. I knew you two were close, but I didn’t know you were  _ that _ close,” she teased. 

“He’s like my brother. We’ve been sharing beds since we were eight. It’s not weird to us.” Scott wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend his and Stiles’ relationship, but something the way Erica was leering at him set his wolf on edge. He didn’t like what she was insinuating. 

“Maybe he just left town for a few days. Things have been kind of crazy lately,” Isaac suggested. 

Scott shook his head. “They have an APB out on his jeep, but he wouldn’t have just left without telling his dad. He wouldn’t scare him like that.” 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Derek said, trying to placate him. 

“That’s what everyone says.” Boyd’s voice shook as he spoke. “The police, my neighbors, the teachers at school. That’s what they all said when my sister went missing.” 

The room was silent after that. No one knew what to say. Erica reached over and put her hand on Boyd’s arm in a surprising show of gentle affection. He gave her a sad smile in return. 

“Please, Derek,” Scott began. “I get why you have issues with me, but Stiles has always been in your corner. He’s defended you, saved your life. And if you had gone missing, if any of you were missing,” he looked at the betas. “He would already be out there searching for you.” 

He turned back to Derek. ”You don’t want to help me, fine. But you have to help him.” Desperation laced his voice, and Derek felt his resolve crack. Scott wasn’t wrong. Stiles had helped him before, asking nothing in return. He had harboured Derek when he was a fugitive, had held him up in a pool for two hours, and had contained Scott on full moons, which was supposed to have been Derek’s job. He had placed his trust in the human, at least a little bit. He briefly entertained the thought that Stiles had been in on Scott’s plan with Gerard, but he knew he wasn’t. He didn’t really understand  _ how _ he knew that, but he knew Stiles wouldn’t do something like that to someone. Really, there wasn’t much to think over. 

“Alright. We’ll help him.” He chose his words carefully, emphasizing that he wasn’t doing this for Scott’s benefit. 

The boy seemed to understand the message, and said with sincerity, “Thank you, Derek.”

He nodded his head in acknowledgement before turning to his betas. He looked at each of them, one by one. “Ready to put those tracking skills to good use?”

Isaac nodded, Erica smiled dangerously, and Boyd had a look of determination that none of them had seen on him before. 


	2. Chpt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search begins.

They joined the search party that afternoon. A lot of people showed up, more than Derek had expected. Normally, something like this wouldn’t be organized until after the 48 hour mark, but Stiles’ case was obviously a special one. It wasn’t because of his father’s position, either. At least, not entirely. The entire Sheriff’s Department was there, even the ones that just worked in the office. Little old ladies that could barely get around themselves had come out, offering support more than any physical help. Several teachers, shop owners, and parents came out to help. There were retired servicemen, and park rangers from the next town over, who had their heads together, huddling over maps of the area. The search dogs were all out, their harnesses on and their ears raised as a sign that they were ready to go. Several medical professionals had come out, not just the EMT’s. Some of his classmates were there, but mostly the minors were kept away. 

In a way, Stiles had brought the whole town together. 

There was a roster being passed around for people to sign. The police wanted to get the names and numbers of all their volunteers to ensure that nobody else got lost. 

The Sheriff was making the rounds, thanking each and every person for coming out to help. The man’s smile was tight, and the air of worry that surrounded him was obvious, although nobody commented on it. When he reached Derek, he paused. 

“Mr. Hale,” he greeted, voice impressively neutral. “Come to help search?”

He resisted the urge to say  _ ‘obviously _ .’ The man was tired, the slump of his shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes were evidence of that fact. The scent of concern and trepidation surrounded him. Derek knew those feelings well. “Yes, sir. I heard you were going to look through the preserve first.”

“Yes, we are. Those woods go on for miles, it’s easy to get lost in them. We’re going to split into groups to cover more ground.”

“I grew up beside the preserve. I’ve run through those woods hundreds of times. I can help you plan out the best places to search, if you’d like.”

Sheriff Stilinski paused for a moment, scrutinizing him. Derek resisted the urge to drop his gaze in submission.  _ He _ was the alpha here. Then, a look of relief crossed his face, and he placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Thanks, son. I’d really appreciate that.”

Derek nodded, not trusting himself to speak. How long had it been since he had been called son? How long since he had human contact with someone, outside of his pack, that didn’t come with pain. He swallowed thickly. 

Erica, Isaac, and Boyd weren’t allowed to join the search party, not for lack of trying. So he had them search other areas instead. Erica and Isaac had the industrial district, while Boyd had the downtown area. The past few weeks since they had been reunited were good to them all. Erica and Boyd had returned to him once Chris had released them from the Argent’s basement. They had begged his forgiveness, said they should’ve listened to him. He had simply told them there was nothing to forgive, and brought them into an embrace that surprised all three of them. Isaac, ever loyal, was quickly brought in on the group hug. It was the first time they had really felt like a pack.

Erica, while still the most aggressive out of the three betas, had managed to gain more control over her wolf side. Boyd, ever calm and steady, had become the first friend he’d had since Laura died. Isaac, who had the best control, took to being a wolf like a fish took to water. He was a natural. Derek had told him that one day, when the other two had gone. Isaac had  _ preened _ , and the smell of happiness that wafted off of him actually made Derek smile. 

He still had a lot to teach them, but tracking was one of the basic lessons they had been working on. Unsurprisingly, Isaac seemed to be the best at it so far. Erica was too impatient, and Boyd was too hesitant to trust his wolf instincts. Regardless, they were all trying hard to pick it up. They all knew Stiles’ scent, and he told them to call him if they caught any trace of it. 

After consulting with one of the deputies, they had decided which spots were the best starting points. Scott and his mom were in group one, searching the south end of the preserve. Lydia, who was 5’3” and 110 pounds, had not taken kindly to being told to leave. She had stared at the deputy, a 6’0”, 250 pound, middle aged cop with decades of experience, with a look so venomous even Derek was a little intimidated by it. He was pretty sure the deputy actually  _ gulped _ before he backed away from her while apologizing profusely. Jackson, who looked meek in comparison to his fiery girlfriend, stood by with his hands in his pockets. He looked small, and every bit like the young man he was. 

Derek wanted to help him. It was his responsibility to. He had even tried to speak with him one day, but the nervous scent Jackson was giving off, combined with how skittish he was, made him back off. He had kept his distance ever since. He figured Jackson would come to him when he was ready. And if he was never ready, well, at least he had his anchor.

Lydia and Jackson, as well as their parents, were put in group two, searching the south end of the preserve. Derek was in group three. He asked the Sheriff to put him with that group because the northeast area had steep inclines, jagged rocks, and some caves that could be home to bears or mountain lions. The Sheriff had agreed, but reminded him that each group would have a couple of deputies with them who had their guns ready for any situation like that. Still, Derek was surprised when he was appointed the leader of the group. It was kind of embarrassing how much that pleased his wolf. 

They had searched for almost two hours, through shrubbery and trees, passing water and boulders, when the radio on Deputy Ramos’ shoulder went off. 

_ “Attention all units. We have a code 1179 on the southeast side by Caplener road. Possible 480. All units please standby.” _

“10-4,” Deputy Ramos replied into his comm. 

“What does that mean?” A middle aged woman in their group asked, somehow managing to look both concerned and intensely interested. 

“Accident with a major injury,” the Deputy replied solemnly. “A possible 480 means there may have been a hit and run. They must’ve found the jeep.”

They kept searching for a while after that, but the hope and positive energy that everyone had that afternoon was fading fast. It was just starting to turn dark outside when the deputy stopped to answer his phone. Derek listened intently. 

“What’s going on, Johannson?” 

_ “They didn’t find him, but they did find the jeep. It was turned over and all dented in. The glass was busted out, it was a mess. There...was some blood, too. They're taking it to the lab right now to test it, but we’re certain it’s his. The Sheriff is doing his best to hold it together right now, but he wants everyone to pack it in for the night. He doesn’t want civilians roaming the woods in the dark. We’ll pick things up in the morning.” _

“Alright,” Deputy Ramos said. He turned to the rest of the group. “Okay, everyone! I need your attention, please. The search party is done for the day. Everyone is to leave the preserve in an orderly fashion, and we’ll pick things back up in the morning. I want to thank you all for volunteering your time.”

Several people started asking questions immediately, hungry for gossip. They were all talking over each other, and Derek didn’t envy Deputy Ramos, who was keeping his cool very well considering the prying horde in front of him. 

He pulled out his phone and texted Scott, just in case he hadn’t heard the news yet. 

_ Cops found the jeep, but no sign of Stiles. They think it might have been a hit and run. _

_ I know. I heard. _

He thought about responding to the text with some platitude like  _ I’m sure he’s okay, _ but he didn’t think it would be well received. Instead he focused his gaze towards the woods around them. He couldn’t be sure, but he had the distinct feeling of being watched. 

“Hale,” Deputy Ramos said, putting his hand on his shoulder. Derek resisted the urge to flinch at the contact. Ramos must have seen it, because he slowly removed his hand. “Time to go. You need to stay with the group, we don’t want you getting lost.”

Derek nodded, and followed the deputy, but not before stealing one last glance at the dense foliage behind him. 


	3. Chpt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek tries to be a good alpha. Scott wallows in his guilt. The search is called off.

“I need you to be honest with me, kid. This is serious.” John placed his hand on Scott’s shoulder. Scott nodded earnestly, waiting for him to continue. 

“Was Stiles taking any drugs? Was he involved in anything like that? Anything that could be illegal?”

Scott blinked in surprise, not expecting those questions at all. “No, sir.”

“You won’t be in trouble, Scott,” John assured him. “I promise. I just need to know the truth.” 

“Sheriff, I swear,” he held up his hands. “The only drug Stiles takes is his adderall.”

“What’s this about, John?” Melissa asked gently. “I thought it was a car wreck?”

“That’s what it looks like, but…” He trailed off, rubbing his hands down his face. 

“But what?”

John looked at the McCalls, and their twin brown eyes stared back. “I shouldn’t tell you this. It’s police business, and this is still an open case. But you’re family.” Melissa smiled kindly at him, reaching for his hand, and giving it a squeeze. He squeezed back. “There was an unidentified substance in the car. Some kind of purple powder.”

Scott froze.  _ Wolfsbane _ . Panic and guilt seized him, but he choked it down, hoping the Sheriff hadn’t noticed. He could vaguely hear his mom’s voice, but it wasn’t clear. It was like he was underwater. Then, like someone breaching the surface to take a deep breath, he turned back into the conversation. 

“The lab is testing it to find out what it is, and hopefully find out where it came from. Maybe that will give us a lead.”

“You don’t think this was an accident, do you?” Melissa asked softly.

The Sheriff met her gaze, concern etched on his face. “No, Mel,I don’t. I can’t explain it, but my gut is telling me there’s something more to this. The way the jeep looked…” 

He noticed how pale Scott had become, and instantly felt guilty. “Aw, hell, kid. I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear any of this.” He gave Scott a hug, which he returned emotionlessly. He felt like he was running on autopilot. 

“Why don’t you go home, honey,” Melissa suggested, rubbing her hand through his hair. “You have school in the morning. You need to get some rest. I’m going to stay a little longer.”

Scott nodded, but he still felt numb. His best friend was missing, was  _ hurt _ , and it was all his fault. 

  
  


Stiles’ disappearance was the latest gossip at school. Some were saying he ran away, others said he was kidnapped. Scott felt his friend's absence like an amputee feels a phantom limb. Sitting in his economics class, it became all too noticeable that the chair behind him was empty. Coach was rambling on and on, but Scott wasn’t listening. All he could hear was Stiles’ voice on his phone. 

_ “Hey, Scott. Call me back. I have something I need to tell you.” _

_ “Hey, Scottie. Really need to talk to you. Call me.” _

_ “It’s me. Again. Call me.” _

_ “I’m serious, Scott. This is important. Please call me back as soon as you get this.” _

He had been leaving messages for weeks.  _ Weeks _ . And he had ignored him. Because of Allison, because he was selfish. Because he was a poor excuse for a friend. The guilt was eating away at him, and his chest ached. 

Erica was sitting a couple of chairs to his right. She couldn’t help looking at Scott from time to time. He looked like a kicked puppy. She felt kind of bad for him, which just made her annoyed because she didn’t want to feel bad for a guy like Scott McCall. 

In the next class over, Boyd was lost in thought. Stiles and his sister were two different people, in completely different situations. He didn’t even know him that well. So why did this feel like a repeat of Alisha’s disappearance? Why did he feel like he had failed again? 

Isaac, who sat next to Boyd, could sense the pain confusion coming from his pack mate. Growing up in his house, he had to learn how to placate his father. He learned how to submit, to please, to avoid confrontation, but he never learned how to comfort someone. Isaac hated that a guy as nice as Boyd was hurting, and he could do nothing about it. 

Jackson and Lydia sat side by side in history. They had rearranged their schedules so they would have as many classes together as possible. His control was still tenuous at best. Lydia was the perfect anchor, but going for even a couple of hours without seeing or hearing from her made his skin itch. He felt like he was smothering her, and he hated being this needy. He hated relying on anyone. Most of all, he hated that she still loved him. He was a murderer, a freak of nature, and he treated her like shit. He wasn’t worthy of being loved, especially not by Lydia Martin. 

Lydia was exhausted, though no one could tell. She hid it well, under her makeup and her vapid persona. She’d been having this feeling of dread for weeks, like something bad was just around the corner. Then Stiles goes missing, and despite what the police say about it being a car accident of some sort, she felt like it was more than that. Sometimes she would hear water, or metal banging against something hard. No one else heard it, of course. The sounds were all in her head. She was alone. 

  
  


Coach Finstock was flailing his arms, rambling about how the healthcare system was a giant leech sucking the blood, and money, out of taxpayers. In the middle of his tirade, there was a knock on the door. The office’s receptionist, Mrs. Jenkins, didn’t wait for an answer before coming in. Her gray hair was pulled up in a tight bun, and she looked grim. She handed a piece of paper to Coach, and left without saying a word. Finstock unfolded the paper and read it, his facial expressions changing from indignation, confusion, and shock, before finally settling on grim sadness.

“Scott McCall,” he said, still looking at the paper in his hands. “You need to go to the office.” He felt his classmates eyes on him. It was as if they were holding their breaths, and couldn’t release them until they saw Scott’s reaction. He looked to Coach Finstock, whose face showed nothing but sympathy. 

_ No. No no no. He knew that look. He knew what it meant. Just...no.  _

He must have been saying all of that out loud, because Coach had walked over and knelt down beside him. He put his hand on Scott’s shoulder, and quietly said, “McCall.  _ Scott _ . You need to go, buddy.” 

He must have moved then. He vaguely remembered someone, Erica maybe, handing him his backpack. He walked through the halls like a zombie, passing the trophy case, before gazing at Stiles’ locker. There were cards and notes on it from people giving well wishes. Other students that had probably never even spoken to his best friend before. He kept walking, and saw his mom sitting on the bench outside the principal’s office. How many times had he and Stiles sat on that bench together? 

His mom was clutching a wad of tissues in her hand. Her red rimmed eyes could barely contain the tears that threatened to fall. She stood up when she saw him. Melissa’s arms wrapped around her son in an effort to give him comfort, and to get comfort in return. 

“What happened?” he said hollowly. His hands were shaking. 

“They found his jacket near the east side of the preserve, by Miller Lane. It was shredded.” She choked back her sobs.

“But they didn’t find  _ him _ ?” Scott said, some hope returning. 

“Sweetheart,” she sniffled. “They didn’t find his body, but they found a lot of blood.”

“But no  _ body _ ! He could still be alive-”

“Honey, there was a lot of blood. _Too_ _much_ blood.” She looked at him meaningfully, willing him to understand. 

Scott’s chest hurt. He couldn’t breathe. He could feel wetness on his cheeks. Stiles couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t. He had always been there for him, since they were eight. He was Scott’s best friend, his brother. He needed Stiles, but he had failed him. 

He crumpled to the floor, unable to stand any longer. His mom cradled him in her arms like she used to when he was little. They stayed there, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down both their faces, for a long time. 

“Did you hear?” Erica asked, as the betas entered the abandoned train station. Her heels clicked on the concrete floor. 

“No. But they called off the search, so I’m assuming they found him.” He kept his voice steady, not wanting to reveal to them the ache he was feeling. He didn’t understand it himself, to be honest. It felt almost like a pack bond, though much weaker. He hadn’t considered Stiles pack, not really. At least, he didn’t think he did. Maybe the wolf in him saw things differently. 

“They didn’t find him,” Isaac answered. “Well, maybe they found what was  _ left _ of him.”

“They found his jacked ripped to pieces, and a lot of blood.” Erica stated, blunt as always. She tried to sound indifferent, but Derek could hear the sadness in her voice. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who had felt an attachment to Stiles. 

“Scott knows?”

“Yeah,” said Isaac. “His mom came to the school and they called him out of class. He was really upset. I stopped listening after a while, it felt like eavesdropping.” His head was turned down, but his eyes were looking up, fitted on Derek. It was like he was silently asking Derek if it was okay that he didn’t listen in. Derek nodded, and Isaac brought his head up, looking instantly relieved. 

Boyd had walked in silently and sat on the couch. He hadn’t said a word yet. 

Derek was definitely not the best choice at offering comfort. His mother always knew the right things to say, and Laura was a very compassionate person. He didn’t really have either of those traits. But he was the Alpha, and he was supposed to support his pack. Thinking of what to say, he made his way over to Boyd. Just as he was about to say some kind of cliche platitude, he tilted his at the sound of a bike parking outside. The betas had also noticed, and he felt a sense of pride that they were using their advanced senses. 

“Erica, be nice.” Isaac whispered, preemptively warning her. 

“I’m always nice,” she snapped back, though she did seem more subdued. 

Scott came through the open door, looking like a wreck. Derek didn’t really like Scott, but he was just a kid. A kid who had lost their best friend today. He had the same look on his face that Derek and Laura had on theirs the night of the fire. 

“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong.  _ You’re all wrong,” _ Scott said with finality. It was the most serious Derek had ever seen him. 

“Wrong about what?” Erica asked.

“Stiles isn’t dead.” 

The ambiance in the room was tense and awkward. None of them were sure what to say to that. Erica looked at Boyd, who looked at Isaac, who looked back at Erica. Then, they simultaneously looked at their alpha. 

“Scott,” Derek ventured. “I know grieving is hard-”

“It’s not grief. I’m telling you-”

“-and denial is a part of-”

“Derek! Shut up!” Scott yelled desperately, a growl edging into his voice. The room was silent except for the deep breath Derek was taking in, in an attempt to control himself and  _ not _ lash out at the grieving sixteen year old. Isaac and Boyd tensed. Erica growled back. 

“Don’t talk to our alpha like that, McCall!” Her gold eyes flashed. 

At first, Scott looked like he was about to attack. Then, his shoulders sagged, as if he were a puppet whose strings had been cut. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Derek.”

He didn’t want to say it was okay, because it wasn’t. So he simply nodded. 

“I just...I  _ know _ there’s a chance that he’s still alive.”

“What makes you think that?” Boyd finally spoke. 

“Because I think it was another werewolf that took him.”

Derek felt his hackles rise. “What do you mean? You  _ knew _ there was another werewolf in  _ my _ territory and you didn’t tell me?” His eyes flashed red. 

“No. I mean, I didn’t  _ know _ .”

“Scott,” he growled. “I’m starting to lose my patience.”

“Look, Stiles told me he thought he was being followed. He said that there was this guy that was turning up everywhere he went. When I told him he should tell his dad, he said he didn’t want to. Stiles thought this guy was...like us.”

“How did he know?”

“That’s what I asked him. He said she just knew, like it was intuition or something. He does that sometimes, makes judgment calls about stuff.”

“Is he usually right?” Boyd finally spoke up. 

“Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you believe him?” Boyd asked, looking angry for the first time ever. 

Scott seemed startled at Boyd’s countenance. To be honest, Derek was surprised as well. Guilt crossed over Scott’s face.

“I know I should have. Stiles was the one that told me I was a werewolf. It makes sense that he would be able to tell that about someone else. I should have believed him. I should have...I thought he was being paranoid, you know? Like everything with Gerard kidnapping him, and Jackson being the kanima, and Peter coming back from the _ dead.  _ I just figured it was like a PTSD thing? Like being really aware of your surroundings or something.” He shrugged helplessly. 

“That’s no excuse,” Derek said vehemently. Hypervigilance was a trait of PTSD, he had experienced it himself, but it doesn’t erase the fact that Scott had ignored him. That wouldn’t have happened if he had been in  _ his _ pack. “He was your  _ pack _ . You should have protected him.”

Scott looked like he wanted to argue, but in a second the look had changed to one of guilt and sadness. “I know. It’s my fault he’s hurt. But he could still be alive! If it was an alpha, they might have bitten him or....scratched him deep enough to turn.”

“It’s unlikely, Scott.”

“But it’s possible, right?” He looked so hopeful, so desperate, and Derek sighed. He was trying to follow in his mother’s footsteps, to be the kind of alpha that she was. His mother wouldn’t crush this boy’s hope, and she wouldn’t give up on someone she cared about. 

Not that Derek cared about Stiles. Even if the half-formed bond he felt said otherwise. 

Finally, he relented. “It’s...possible. We’ll keep looking.”

The scent of relief wafted off of Scott. “Thanks, Derek. Really.”


	4. Chpt. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get Lydia's perspective on some things, and Stiles makes a run for it.

The pouring rain outside was a perfect representation of how Lydia felt on the inside. It wasn’t even nine yet, and she was already in bed. No makeup, no skimpy negligee. She didn’t even brush her hair. All she had been doing for the last hour was huddling under her covers like a child afraid of the boogeyman under her bed. 

The boogeyman didn’t exist, but other  _ things _ did. She had seen them, had almost become one herself. 

She was so tired of this. So tired of being scared, and unsure. Lydia Martin was not a scared and unsure person. But that was before, when all she had to really worry about was school dances and the latest beauty trends. It seemed like a lifetime ago before she even thought about those things. So much had changed. 

Lydia wasn’t sure if Jackson was her boyfriend, or if they were still broken up and just staying friends. She didn’t even know if he liked her at all anymore, even though he was constantly around her. She knew it wasn’t because he wanted to be. He had changed, too. He used to hold his head up proudly, maybe a little  _ too _ proud at times, but it was better than the present day Jackson, one who averted his gaze and frowned constantly. He jumped at the slightest sounds, became even more distant from his parents. Even Danny couldn’t bring a smile to his face. Lydia missed his smile so much. 

Another sharp screech, like nails on a chalkboard. She brought her hands up to cover her ears, but it didn’t help. It never helped. It wasn’t just the noises, though the screeching, and tapping, and  _ voices _ were difficult to ignore. It was the foreboding sense of dread that crawled up her spine. It was ever present these days. 

Lydia could remember just a few short months ago. Before monsters with sharp teeth and sharper claws, before everything she knew to be fact was twisted around, she used to be someone. Maybe a small town debutante kind of someone, but still. Now she was that weird girl who ran through the woods naked, who ran around in a group of even weirder kids. 

God, she missed Allison. She hadn’t expected to like her as much as she had, and they had quickly become good friends, maybe best friends. Allison was the first person that she felt really liked Lydia for  _ herself _ , not for her popularity or her looks.

Allison had changed, too. In place of smiles and dimples, she became somebody tougher, maybe even colder. The death of her mom hit her hard, but every time Lydia had tried to talk to her about it, it was like she shut down. Allison had learned to use the same mask that Lydia used to wield. So, when Chris Argent decided they could use a break, and made a father daughter trip to France to visit distant relatives, Lydia knew it might be the last time she saw her friend again. A few weeks later, when Chris Argent came back to town  _ alone _ , she knew she was right. 

Pulling the silk pillow over her head, she concentrated on blocking out the sounds that plagued her. Each fallen raindrop sounded like a gunshot, each time she swallowed it tasted like salt and iron, like  _ blood _ . The panic, the uncertainty, the unending feeling of hysteria was churning inside her. Lydia wanted to run far away from Beacon Hills, from her nightmares, from the chaos she could feel in her  _ bones _ . 

She knew she couldn’t, that the idea of escaping was unrealistic. No matter where she went, she would never be able to escape herself. 

Agitation, helplessness, and loss warred inside her, along with hope, and ambition, and curiosity. She clenched her eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge the wetness on her cheeks. It was too much, she couldn’t contain it! She didn’t want to contain it. She wanted to...to...

Scream.

  
  


Holding his hand to his stomach to staunch the bleeding, Stiles ran to the front door of the school. It was locked and he almost gave up. He was so tired, and in so much pain. He was hungry and thirsty and freezing from the downpour. But he could  _ feel _ that they were close by. Gripping the handle as hard as he could, he  _ yanked _ . It opened! He ran inside, soaking up the warmth of the air as he let his eyes adjust. 

He saw the fire alarm on the wall and hobbled over to it as quickly as he could. His hand was on the lever when he paused. Ringing the alarm would bring the fire department, and maybe even the police. He might be rescued, or he might get a bunch of innocent civilians killed. He might get his  _ dad _ killed. They knew nothing about the supernatural side of things, and would be unequipped to handle a werewolf pack. Plus, it would risk exposure. He didn’t want his friends rounded up by the government and experimented on or something. 

_ Note to self, no more conspiracy documentaries. _ His hand slid off the lever. He would have to think of something else, and quickly.  _ I can do this. I have to do this. I’m the smart one. I’m the one that makes the plans…..Plans…. _

Bingo. The PA system that Scott used to lure Peter out. He could call out for help, and pray that at least one of the wolves would be close enough to hear it. Plus, there was a phone in the office that he could use to call Scott, assuming he actually picks up this time. 

He glided down the hallways, using the lockers as support, leaving bloody handprints in his wake. The office door was locked, but he snapped off the handle to that one, too. He refused to think about what having that extra strength meant. Stiles looked through the window to the outside, not seeing anyone following him, but it was hard to see through the thick sheet of rain falling. He turned towards the PA system, trying to remember which switches to hit. Bloody fingerprints were on everything, and he forced down the urge to throw up. With the system turned on, he thought about how to proceed. 

Scott had given a hilariously awful roar the first time, sounding like a dying cat. Stiles had been embarrassed  _ for _ him. Then, he roared for  _ real _ , and it was impressive, and super loud. It also did the trick, luring the alpha to them. Stiles hadn’t thought about that. Calling out for help might bring his wolves, but it would also signal his location to the ones that had hunted him down. But what other choice did he have?

Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to imagine what his roar would sound like. Was he even a werewolf? The fact that he was still alive was a good sign that he probably was. Although, judging by the fact that he felt like roadkill, he might be rejecting the bite. He hadn’t sprouted claws or fangs, or hairy mutton chops... 

It didn’t matter. This was the only idea he had. Instinct took over, and the thoughts of  _ help me, save me, come for me  _ were racing through his head. Trying to convey those thoughts through his roar, Stiles sucked in a deep breath and let it out. 

It was awesome. And loud. And probably not that impressive to most wolves, but damn he was proud of it, and desperately hoped it worked. 

Exhaustion and blood loss had made him tired and weak. He grabbed the phone, dialing Scott’s number, or at least what his fuzzy brain  _ thought _ was Scott’s number, but the call went straight to voicemail. 

“Seriously?” he muttered defeatedly. Stiles sank to the floor, his legs unable to hold him anymore. Leaning his head back against the desk, his vision faded in and out. Between one moment and the next, he went under. 


	5. Chpt.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles runs into some trouble. Scott and Lydia have a conversation. Derek and the Hale pack are on the move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a bit that I've taken from Season 5, except Donovan is not a chimera in this, just a werewolf.

Slowly, Stiles found his way back to consciousness. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, and while some of his wounds looked better, he knew he was still in bad shape, though the bleeding was now sluggish. He rubbed his hands over his eyes. His vision had been switching between blurry and hi-def. His hearing was similar, in that he could hear his own heartbeat thumping, could almost hear each individual drop of rain outside. He couldn’t tell if his smell was messed up, as all he smelled was sweat and the iron rich scent of blood.

Instinct was telling him that something bad was about to happen. Well, something worse than what had already happened. He closed his eyes and tried to focus. There was a chain rattling, and something metallic breaking. Desperately hoping that whoever was breaking in was on his side, he slowly rose to his feet, clutching at the desk to steady himself. Gradually, he made his way to the door and peered out. Nothing but a dark and vacant hallway. 

“Stiles.” A low voice said in a whisper that echoed through the halls. 

He flinched and his heart rate picked up. That voice was familiar to him, and it most definitely didn’t belong to one of the good guys. Help had not come for Stiles, but his enemy had. 

  
  


“Who was that?” Isaac asked, his head perked up like a bloodhound chasing wildlife. 

“Whoever it was, it was loud,” observed Boyd. 

“Scott?” Erica suggested.

“No,” Derek replied, shaking his head. “Definitely not Scott.”

“Then who was it?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t recognize it, but it was definitely a call for help.”

“Maybe Scott was right,” Isaac pondered. “Maybe Stiles was bitten.”

Derek wasn’t entirely sure he believed that, but there was a look of hope on Isaac’s face, and he didn’t want to be the one to crush that hope, even though he thought that outcome was unrealistic. 

“Maybe. We’ll head in that direction and check it out. Boyd is with me.” He pointed to Erica and Isaac. “You two can take Erica’s car, but stay behind us. Keep your phones turned up in case anything happens.”

Regardless of whether Stiles was still alive or not, there were foreign wolves in his territory, and he couldn’t allow that. While a werewolf’s protective instincts were already quite noticeable, his had become even more profound since he became Alpha. He needed to protect his territory, his home, his  _ pack _ . 

  
  
  
  


He had barely managed to run away from the guy, whose name he was pretty sure was Donovan, only because he knew the layout of the school so well, and the other boy did not. Knowing there was no place to really hide, seeing as he was leading a trail of blood behind him that could probably be smelled a mile away, he made a pass for the library. It was under construction at the moment, which meant that besides the many book shelves, there were also tarps and wooden planks he could hide behind. All Stiles had to do was buy himself some time. He was too weak to fight Donovan off, and too slow to outrun him, so this was the only plan he had. 

The other boy continued chasing him through the school like they were playing tag, calling out his name at times, taunting him. He ran in the library and took cover behind one of the bookshelves in the back. It was only a minute later when Donovan came through. 

“Tsk, tsk, Stiles. I’m disappointed in you. You’ve trapped yourself now. Only way out is through this door.” Stiles could hear him tap his fingers against the door frame, before pacing slowly, getting closer and closer with each step. Then he ran to the other side of the bookshelf and shook it. Books fell all around Stiles as he made a run for it, but Donovan caught up to him quickly and took a swipe at his arm. 

The fact that he barely felt the pain was probably not a good thing, but in that moment, he was grateful. Stiles was so tired of hurting. Donovan slowed his pace again, walking leisurely with his hands behind his back. He was toying with Stiles. 

Stiles grabbed a hammer from a nearby toolbox. With a grin that was more fangs than teeth, Donovan lunged at him. Instead of waiting until Donovan got close enough for Stiles to swing the hammer, which would also mean he would be close enough to slice Stiles’ throat open, he decided throwing the hammer was a better option. The guy looked surprised, as it sailed through air, hitting its target. He fell to the ground with a grunt. The double pronged part had lodged itself in his chest. It wasn’t deep enough to do any lasting damage, not to a werewolf, at least. It didn’t matter to Stiles, though. He was getting weaker with every step, and knew he couldn’t keep dodging him. The large metal scaffolding nearby gleamed under the moonlight shining in through the windows. It was like a beacon, and he ran towards it. Up and up he climbed, his hands slippery from the blood. It made it harder to grasp onto the bars, but he managed. He was almost to the top when he felt claws dig in to the back of his shin. 

Stiles tried to kick Donovan off, but his claws dug in deeper. The pain was immense, it felt like he had severed a tendon or something. Trying to grab the next bar in a futile attempt to get away, he saw a metal ring that held a barrage of rebar. Without thinking, he pulled himself as close to the scaffolding as he could, and pulled the ring out. 

Stiles cried out in agony as claws were ripped out of his leg. Metal clanked around him as the poles hit the tiled floor. There was a slicing sound, then a wet gurgle, before silence. Gathering what little courage he had left, Stiles looked down. Donovan was being propped up by a pole that had gone through his stomach, blood pouring off the wound. The dark red was sliding down the silver, inch by inch. Donovan’s eyes were wide open, almost surprised, as he stared unblinkingly at Stiles. 

Slowly, Stiles lowered himself to the ground, gritting his teeth against the pain that thrummed through his whole body with every move. At the bottom of the scaffolding, he collapsed on the floor. Blood was still dripping onto the ground, but once the gurgling had stopped, he knew Donovan was dead. 

_ ‘I killed him,’  _ he thought, not fully believing it even though the evidence was right in front of his eyes.  _ Drip, drip, drip. _

Stiles’ heart pounded in his ears. He wasn’t sure if the wetness on his face was from sweat or tears. His stomach lurched, and he dry heaved uncontrollably. Finally, with watery eyes and a runny nose, he crawled his way under a nearby table, and cried. 

  
  
  


Rain was pelting Scott as he rode on his motorbike, but he hardly felt it. That howl, that desperate call for help, it had to be Stiles. Scott felt that howl in his  _ bones _ . All he could think about was finding his best friend, of saving him, and apologizing to him. He was so preoccupied with thoughts of Stiles, that he wasn’t paying attention to the road. Turning the curve, he was caught in headlights. Blinded by the brightness, he swerved his bike far to the right. Instead of the car running him down completely, it merely grazed him. While it was still painful, he knew he would heal. Scott picked his bike back up, hoping the dent in the back wouldn’t affect how it ran. 

The car had pulled to a stop, and Scott focused on turning his eyes back to their normal brown, as opposed to the golden hue they had become. 

“Scott?” A soft voice called, as the driver opened their door.

“Lydia?” 

The petite redhead stood there, looking completely lost. Her hair was wet, like she had been standing out in the rain for a while. Scott could smell Jackson’s scent clinging to the baggy shirt she wore, and her mascara was smudged under her eyes. He had never seen Lydia looked confused before, but there she stood, completely out of place. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Scott was quick to assure her, as he slung his leg over his bike. “I really need to go, though. Drive safe, okay?” 

“Scott!” Lydia stopped him before he could speed off. He tried not to be annoyed with her, but he didn’t have time for this. 

“Lydia, I’m fine.  _ Really _ . I won’t tell anyone. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” She screeched, her voice drowning out the sound of pouring rain. She marched up to him, clutching his shoulder in a surprisingly tight grip. Her manicured nails dug into his skin. “You heard that, didn’t you?” She sounded desperate, like she  _ needed _ him to say yes. 

“Heard what?”

“The howl. It sounded like a wolf.”

“Lydia,” he ventured, thinking back to what Stiles had said to him. He needed to get her off his back, so he could get going. “There haven’t been wolves in California in-”

“Well over sixty years. Yes, I know, Scott,” she spat venomously. “Which is how I know that wasn’t an  _ actual _ wolf. It was someone like  _ you _ .” She couldn’t bring herself to say werewolf, the idea still too insane. “I’ve...been hearing a lot of things lately. After everything, Peter’s attack, my fugue state, Jackson, the voices, I  _ know _ something bigger is at play here.” She stabbed him in the chest with a pointed nail. “And you know  _ exactly _ what’s going on, so you’re going to tell me.” Her voice left no room for argument. 

“Okay,” Scott nodded eagerly. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But I really do have to go now.”

“It’s about Stiles, isn’t it?” 

That made Scott pause. “What makes you think that?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Because Stiles is involved in all of this mess, too. And wherever one of you goes, the other is never far behind.”

Scott wasn’t sure what to say. He could deny it, say that Stiles was gone and he was just late for work. He could call her crazy, or he could tell her the complete truth so she could call  _ him _ crazy. Instead, in his usual fashion, he blurted out, “I think Stiles was taken by other werewolves, and maybe he was turned.”

One perfectly groomed eyebrow rose. “Turned.” 

“Yeah…” Scott wavered. “Yeah. Turned, like me and Jackson.”

“Like Erica, Isaac, and Boyd?”

Scott nodded. “If Stiles was turned, then he’s still alive. There’s a chance we can save him.”

Lydia stared off in the distance, like she was listening to something, though Scott couldn’t hear anything except the fall of raindrops. 

“Get in the car.” She turned around so swiftly that her hair swung around and slapped Scott in the face. “Now, McCall!”

Looking down at his bike, Scott heaved a big sigh, before letting it fall to the ground. 

  
  



	6. Chpt. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff figures out something strange is going on. The Hale pack investigates. Scott and Lydia are quickly becoming best frenemies. Lydia is a badass. Isaac is a hero. The Hale pack is functional, for the most part. We get a taste of what Stiles may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has canon typical violence for the most part, but there is a little bit of gore/body modification. Just a head's up.

Hearing the screeching of the front entrances’ doors brought Stiles out of his panic induced breakdown. Whoever it was, they were walking cautiously. Other than the soft squeak of shoes on the linoleum floor, the mystery person was quiet. Donovan liked to hear himself talk, but this person wasn’t saying a thing. Despite being terrified, he knew he had to find out who the person was. He assessed himself, and saw that while his stomach wound had healed quite a bit, the slice that Donovan had made on his leg was looking worse. He was exhausted, his head pounded, and he was  _ so _ thirsty. He was unsure if he would be able to walk, so he crawled across the library floor as fast as he could, pointedly ignoring the impaled body in the middle of the room. 

Stiles used the library door to prop himself up, hissing in pain all the while. The footsteps were much closer now. If he went to them, and it turned out it was the enemy, he would be fucked. There’s no way he could outrun or out fight another werewolf. He needed to keep some distance until he knew who it was. 

“Hello?” he croaked. The footsteps stopped. “Who’s there?”  _ Please be Scott. Please be Scott. Please be Scott _ , he thought to himself. 

Silence. And then...

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” A gleeful female voice suddenly called out. A voice that  _ definitely _ did not belong to Erica, Lydia, or Allison. 

Stiles' heart picked up as he hobbled down the hallway. Stiles knew they would follow his scent, and the blood trail. There would be no hiding from this woman. His mind raced to come up with a game plan. 

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg, he managed to reach the chemistry lab, desperately hoping that all the ingredients to Lydia’s signature Molotov cocktails were still available. Stumbling around the room, he tried to remember what all he needed. Lydia’s voice listed them in his head.  _ Carbon disulfide, phosphorus, sulphur, water. _ He then grabbed the mini fire extinguisher Harris kept behind his desk. There were only enough ingredients to make one firebomb, so he had to make it count. Mixing them all into a single glass beaker, he hid behind one of the desks and waited.

  
  
  


Blue and red lights flashed behind them as they sped down the road. “Damn it,” Lydia said, pulling over to the side. Scott looked back to see who had stopped them, and felt some relief when he realized it was Sheriff Stilinski. 

His mom had told him that the Sheriff had been working non-stop. Every second that wasn’t spent trying to figure out what happened to Stella was spent at the precinct. Judging from the look of him as he approached the car, she was right. His uniform was wrinkled, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He also hadn’t shaved in several days. He stood there like he didn’t even notice the rain pouring on him. 

The man tapped on Lydia’s window, gesturing for her to roll it down. 

“Miss Martin,” he greeted, nodding his head. He peered around her and squinted his eyes. “Scott?”

Scott sheepishly held up his hand in an awkward wave. “Hi, Mr. Stilinski.”

The Sheriff gave an exasperated look before speaking to Lydia. “Do you know how fast you were going?”

Lydia put on her best innocent face. “I can hazard a guess and say forty miles per hour?”

Stilinski's face looked unimpressed. “Seventy five,” he deadpanned. Then he looked over at Scott and said, “In a thirty five zone.”

The two teens looked at each other. Lydia squinted her eyes at Scott and subtly jerked her head towards Stilinski, silently telling him to say something. Meanwhile, Scott was wide eyed and looked like he was about to panic and bolt from the car. 

Sheriff Stilinski sighed heavily. “Don’t bother making excuses. I won’t believe them anyway. I’ll let you off with a warning this time, Miss Martin, but you should take more care. You too, Scott.”

Scott nodded frantically. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” Lydia started rolling up her window.

“I mean it, you two. Be more careful.” Sheriff Stilinski looked at them sorrowfully. “Your mothers would be devastated if anything happened to you.”

He retreated back to his squad car, but Scott’s sensitive hearing caught him muttering to himself, “There’s nothing worse than losing a child.”

Lydia pulled back onto the road. Scott swallowed thickly, trying to push back another wave of guilt. He made a promise to himself then and there that if they didn’t find Stiles, he would start taking care of his dad. It was the least he could do. 

  
  
  


“I’m actually disappointed,” the female wolf said, as she swung open the classroom door. “I expected a better hiding place than this.” 

Her clawed fingers tapped against the desks as she leisurely walked around the room. “Although, Oliver did get you pretty good earlier. They almost gutted you,” she laughed before her voice turned cold and serious. “Too bad they didn’t.”

She rounded another desk, and focused her glaring blue gaze on Stiles down the aisle. She twisted her neck to the left, then the right, before her fangs dropped and she snarled. “You know what they say, never send a man to do a woman’s job.”

Just as she was about to lunge, Stiles jumped up, ignoring the agonizing pain, and threw the beaker at her feet. The flames started climbing up her body, and for a few moments, it was as if she hadn’t noticed. Then, like flipping a switch, she changed to screaming in pain. 

Stiles tried not to gag at the smell of burning flesh and hair. He made a pass for the door as quickly as he could, narrowing avoiding the wolf’s claws. She was slashing out blindly as her skin charred. He made it out of the classroom, shutting the door behind him. It did little to muffle her shrieks. There were no smoke alarms in the rooms themselves, thank you poorly funded public school, but the hallways had alarms and sprinklers. Once the smoke got to the hallway, the alarm would go off and bring the fire department. If Stiles didn’t make sure the wolves were dead, then the firemen may be killed in the crossfire. Stiles was his father’s son, and protecting people was in his nature. No civilians were going to get hurt, he’d make sure of it. 

The girl had managed to make her way to the door, and a bloody and blackened hand slapped on the door window. Even through the flames, he could make out her blue eyes. She grasped the door handle as she slid to the floor, struggling to open it. Stiles held tight to the other side’s handle. They struggled for a bit, and Stiles feared that the door handle would just break off, but eventually the wolf’s hand slid off it, finger by finger, until she lay in a heap on the floor. Stiles stood there and glanced through the window, making sure she stayed down. Her chest wasn’t rising or falling, so he assumed she was dead. 

_ That’s two people I’ve murdered.  _ Smoke started to file out under the door. Soon, it would set off the alarm. He brandished the fire extinguisher, and carefully edged the door open just enough for him to slide through. He sprayed the girl down, eliminating the fire that had consumed her. There were also a couple of spots in the room he had to extinguish. Slipping back out of the room, he shut the door behind him. This was such a mess.  _ How am I going to explain this to my dad? _

God, his  _ dad _ . Just thinking about how worried he must be made him want to throw up. He’s probably already made himself sick over this. What if his disappearance stressed his dad out so much that he had a heart attack? What if Stiles killed his own father like he killed these two werewolves. He started having trouble breathing. His chest hurt, and his heart was beating too fast. He was simultaneously chilled and hot. Stiles knew what this was, and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. He had started having panic attacks after his mother died, but he had been doing so well lately, considering his circumstances. Now, it was coming on full force, and it incapacitated him. 

Later, when he thinks back on this moment, he’ll blame the panic for distracting him, for making him tune out his surroundings, and not catching the four shadowy figures down the end of the hall. 

  
  
  


“I never noticed how creepy this place looked at night,” Isaac observed. 

“Baby,” Erica taunted, though she did take a noticeable step behind Boyd. 

“Isaac, you and Erica go in the back entrance by the field. Boyd and I will go in the front.” Isaac was pretty good at tracking now, and Erica was decent, so he felt okay about sticking them together. Boyd, however, still had trouble with it, so Derek wanted to keep him close. The three betas nodded obligingly at their alpha. 

“Remember what I taught you. Use your senses to map out your surroundings, and  _ listen _ to your instincts.”

Watching Isaac and Erica run off made Derek feel anxious, jittery. He wasn’t used to them being separated from him when there was possible danger. At least, not since they’d two of them had returned from the Argent’s house, and they started functioning like a  _ real _ pack. Ever since that night, he’s felt more protective of his betas. He wanted them safe. Still, he had to trust that they could take care of themselves. 

Trust. He wasn’t good at that. He used to be, when he was a teenage fool, blinded by what he thought was love. The older he grew, the more bitter he became. And after Laura…. Well, he wasn’t good company then. Now, he was alpha, and had bitten four teenagers. God, what was he  _ thinking _ ? Laura would be laughing her ass off if she were here. 

On the upside, Derek thinks he made the best choices. Maybe not with Jackson, but certainly with the other three. Boyd was strong and quiet, a thinker. Erica, bold and hungry, reminded him of his little sister Cora, whether he liked the comparison or not. Isaac, who could so easily have abused his powers, especially where his dad was concerned, seemed to somehow still maintain his gentle nature. 

He used to feel like Scott was his responsibility, since this was his territory and it was his uncle that bit him. That’s why he tried as hard as he did to make Scott join the pack. Anybody else, and he wouldn’t have bothered. After his betrayal, where he  _ used _ Derek for his plan against Gerard, he gave up on recruiting Scott. Derek was done being used. 

Stiles, on the other hand, had never used him. Not really. There was that one time with that Danny kid, where he had to be shirtless, but it didn’t feel malicious. He was pretty sure it wasn’t even planned. 

Stiles had helped him take down his uncle, had held him up in a pool for two hours. He had trusted Derek enough to let him help with Scott, and he never asked for anything in return. It was odd, having someone around that didn’t have something to gain. 

Though he would never admit it out loud, he was hoping Scott was right. If Stiles was still alive, he would give him an invitation to the pack. Because he would be good at it. Because if anyone was worthy of that honor, it was Stiles. 

  
  
  
  


“I think you should wait in the car.”

Lydia huffed in annoyance. “For the tenth and  _ final _ time, Scott. I’m not waiting in the car.” 

“Lydia, it could be dangerous! Actually, considering my track record, it is definitely going to be dangerous.”

“I can handle it. I survived being mauled by Peter Hale, and spending days in the woods, naked and hungry. I survived AP trigonometry!” she argued frantically. 

“I. Can. Handle. It.” She emphasized each word with a painful poke to Scott’s chest. 

“Okay!” he relented, rubbing at the spot that was sure to bruise. “You can handle it. Maybe I should just let you go in alone, those nails are sharper than any claws.”

Lydia smiled wickedly, like she was proud of that fact. Her heels clacked on the concrete as she strode up the school steps. Scott was lagging behind, sighing in abject submission. 

  
  
  


“Ugh, what is that smell?” Isaac and Erica both covered their noses, but it was pointless. Their sensitive sense of smell couldn’t block out the scent permeating the air. It was metallic, and meaty. The two blondes stalked towards the where the scent was strongest, and noticed traces of smoke in the air. Thinking it might be Stiles, or whoever it was that called for help, Isaac opened the door and they peered inside. Smoke still lingered in the room, but they didn’t see any remaining fires. They glanced down at the charred, unrecognizable human shaped lump in the floor, and tried not to gag at the sight and smell of it. 

“What the hell?” Erica asked nasally, due to her plugged nose. 

“I have no idea, but I don’t want to stay here,” Isaac replied, already starting to back out of the room. “This seems like a Derek problem.”

“Agreed,” she nodded, then paused and whispered, “But what if it’s Stiles?”

“It doesn’t smell like him.”

Erica smacked him upside the head. “It doesn’t smell like a person, period, dumbass. It smells like barbecue.”

He glared menacingly at her. “Thank you for that. Now, I’ll never be able to eat barbecue again.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think it’s him. I can’t tell for sure, and I can’t really explain why, but I  _ feel _ like it’s not.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Me, too.”

They exited the classroom, sparing one last glance at the body. The two betas shut the door behind them, and went in search of their alpha. 

  
  
  


Lydia, while smelling of fright, led the way through the halls. Scott admired her courage, or maybe it was just stubbornness. It was hard to tell with girls. Every once in a while, she would tilt her head to the side, like she was listening for something. When she caught him staring, she would raise her head and flip her hair over her shoulder, before marching on. He may not have heard the things that she did, but he did hear footsteps approaching quickly. 

Quietly opening a classroom door, he nudged Lydia inside, gesturing to her that she needed to stay put. Lydia, who has probably never followed somebody else’s orders a day in her life, rolled her eyes and reached into her purse, pulling out a pink can of pepper spray. Ever since Peter had attacked her, she never went anywhere without it. Scott fought the urge to smile. Of course, Lydia would be prepared for everything. The hushed footsteps came closer and closer, and Scott, with Lydia in tow, put their backs against the wall. Whoever it was, they were right around the corner. His claws extended as his golden eyes glowed in the dim light. He tried to ignore it when Lydia’s heart picked up speed, and didn’t take it personally when she smelled afraid. He didn’t think she was afraid of him, since she hadn’t moved away. He knew it was because of Peter. Having been bitten by Peter himself, he could understand that fear. She clutched the canister in front of her and gave him a wide eyed look. Scott nodded his head, preparing to strike. Taking a deep breath, he turned the corner, and his clawed hand was raised in the air. 

It promptly fell to his side when he saw that the mystery person was Sheriff Stilinski. 

  
  
  


“What...what..” the Sheriff sputtered. 

“Uh, we were just cosplaying?”

The Sheriff blinked. “Are you  _ asking _ me?”

The teen gulped. “Um, no?”

Lydia heaved an exasperated sigh, shoving Scott aside. “Werewolves are real. Scott is one of them, as well as several other high schoolers. There’s a chance that Stiles might have been taken by other werewolves.”

“Lydia!”

“What? We don’t have time to explain everything right now.”

“There were like fifty different ways to break that to him.”

“I know. I chose that one.”

Sensing their conversation was a lost cause, Scott turned his attention back to the Sheriff. “How did you know we’d be here?”

John was still too stunned to speak. He was looking at Scott like he was an almost complete puzzle that was missing a piece. 

“Isn’t it obvious,” Lydia folded her arms. “He followed us.”

“You followed us?” Scott asked indignantly. That seemed to break Stilinski out of his stupor. 

“Yes, Scott. Two teenagers driving like bats out of hell, heading towards the high school where several strange incidents of questionable legality have happened, not long after my teenage son goes missing, made me a little suspicious.”

Scott rubbed the back of his head, and gave an awkward laugh. “Yeah, I guess when you put it like that…”

“Werewolves,” John repeated, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Things make so much more sense now.”

Lydia arched an eyebrow. “Things make  _ more _ sense now? To me, it’s the opposite. Everything has been turned upside down.”

“I knew there was something else going on around here. I mean, there were disproportionately high reports of mountain lion attacks. There for a few weeks, this town was like the big cat murder capitol of the world!”

“Shh,” Scott whispered. “Look, Sheriff, we’ll explain everything later, I swear. But we really do need to keep moving.”

“Because you’re looking for Stiles. You think he’s here?” 

“It’s possible,” answered Scott, warily eyeing the gun that John had pulled out. 

“Then what the hell are we waiting for? Let’s go save my son.”

  
  


“Man,” Boyd whispered. “That is disturbing.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Derek. They were standing in the library, staring at an impaled werewolf. His features may have changed back to human, but Derek could smell that he wasn’t. He could also smell blood that definitely belonged to Stiles all around the room. Scott’s theory about him being taken by a werewolf and possibly turned was looking more and more likely. 

“He was here?”

“Recently.” If Stiles was still around, he was in very bad shape, judging by the amount of blood and the chemosignals in the room. Fear, pain, lethargy, as well as what was the beginning of an infection. Derek kept all of that to himself, though. He didn’t want to scare his beta anymore than he already was. 

He also noticed the scent of other wolves on the boy. That meant he wasn’t the only one. Instinct was telling him he needed to keep his pack close, not separated. 

“We should go find the others. We’re dealing with another pack, and we’re stronger together.”

  
  
  


Stiles was too weak to move his limbs. They laid listlessly at his side as one of the wolves dragged him through the hallways. Vaguely aware of his surroundings, he took notice of long tables and cheap plastic chairs. That meant they were in the cafeteria. The man that was pulling him deposited him by one of the tables, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor. Voices faded in and out. It was hard to follow their conversation, but he tried.

“I say we should just kill him. I mean, if he really ran with wolves, they would have come for him by now.”

“Shut up, Kyle. We kill him now, and all of this will have been for nothing. We’d be right back where we started.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up,  _ Greg _ ,” the first voice growled out. “Or I’ll gut you like a fucking pig.”

Kyle scoffed. “As if you could.” 

Before a scuffle could break out, a surprisingly soft yet commanding voice said, “Enough.” The room immediately went silent, and a man appeared out of the shadows. “Stiles here managed to knock Tori out with wolfsbane before Kyle snatched him from his jeep. He took what we dealt out, and still managed to escape. He killed Donovan, and  _ burnt Felicia alive. _ ”

Stiles shivered at the awful memories of what he had been forced to do just to survive. Blearily, he blinked up at the man as he approached. 

The man knelt down beside him. He was well built and blond, with a thick beard and crimson eyes. He had a nose that looked too small for his face, and his teeth were a pale yellow. His breath was disgusting. As the man leaned his head closer to Stiles, a flash of a memory flowed through his head, and a shudder ran through him. This was the one that bit him. This was the Alpha. 

The man pushed Stiles’ sweaty hair back off his forehead, and looked at Stiles amusedly when he flinched. “Honestly, I’m impressed. And maybe a little proud,” he grinned. “My newest beta is a survivor.”

“You’ve got to be joking, Oliver. We are not making him pack!” A tall leggy blond called out. She had red lips and blue eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a tight, high ponytail. She was impeccably dressed, making her look out of place amongst the others, who were all in jeans and sneakers. Although, Stiles noticed the edges of her shirt had a purple stain on it, and her neck was red. This was the girl he threw the wolfsbane on. It must have seeped into her wet clothes, and was irritating her skin. 

Stiles did not like the way she was glaring down at him. 

“I bit him, Tori. He’s  _ mine _ . That makes him pack.”

“I don’t like it,” Tori huffed, crossing her arms. She looked like the kind of girl who was used to getting her way. 

“I know, babe.” Oliver strode over to her, tilting her chin up with a single clawed finger. “Don’t worry. He’ll have to fight his way up the ranks, just like the rest of us.”

“We’ve got company,” Kyle announced. Stiles' heart thumped hard against his ribcage. Maybe help had finally come. A few moments passed, and he started to pani when he didn’t hear anyone. Then, several pairs of shoes scuffled against the floor. 

“Hale,” Oliver greeted. “It’s been a while.”

Derek walked slowly into the wide space, flanked by his three betas. Four sets of eyes fell upon Stiles’ prone form. Stiles felt immediately relieved by the arrival of friendly faces, or as friendly as Derek’s face could get, at least. 

“Oliver,” Derek acknowledged, trying to hide his surprise. Oliver was a member of the former Laurent pack, which had been disassembled years ago due to dissension within their ranks that couldn’t be resolved. He and Oliver weren’t friends by any means, weren’t even acquaintances really. The Laurent alpha had attended conferences with Derek’s mother, and Oliver had attended occasionally. It was the only reason he recognized him. The ragged clothes and lumberjack beard hid his identity well. 

He spared another glance at Stiles, who was lying in an unmoving heap on the floor. The teen was awake and breathing, but he was in very bad shape. Even if he was bitten and turned, Derek wasn’t convinced he would survive. He could feel the anxiety seeping through his pack bonds. This was way more than what his betas have dealt with before. “Why are you in my territory?”

“It won’t be yours for long.”

“You’re evading the question.”

Oliver heaved a put upon sigh. “Fine, Hale. I’m in need of a new territory. As I’m sure you’ve heard, the Laurent pack is no more, and our territory was taken from us. So, when I heard that Laura Hale had died, then Peter Hale died, and that  _ you _ were the alpha, well…” Oliver paused with a laugh. “I figured, hey, why not take your territory from you? It’s not like you know the first thing about being an alpha.”

Derek schooled his expression so it wouldn’t show how Oliver’s words affected him. He didn’t really know how to be an alpha, and wasn’t particularly good at it. He’d had no training in it. But he was learning. His insecurity must have shown through the pack bonds, because he felt reassurance being pushed back towards him. His betas were sticking up for him, supporting him. There was power in that. 

He could hear movement in the hallway behind them, and was going to order his betas to watch their backs, when he recognized Scott’s scent, and relaxed minutely. Scott may not fight for Derek, but he would fight for Stiles. Right now, that was the main goal. 

“What did you do to him?” Scott demanded, staring at his friend’s condition in horror. 

_ Scott _ , Stiles thought.  _ That’s Scott’s voice! He came for me! _

“Don’t worry,” Oliver said placatingly. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Well, If he survives the bite, that is.”

“You bit him?” Scott said, his voice less forceful, more shaky. Scott knew it was a possibility, had actually hoped for it, if it meant Stiles was still alive. But hearing this rogue alpha admit to it so callously, it made the wolf in him angry. Stiles was _his_ _pack_. 

“Of course.” The alpha said, as if it were the obvious choice. “I admit, at first we targeted him because he is the go-between for you and Hale. He was connected to all of you, and all of you were connected to him. Humans are such easy targets. Well,  _ usually _ . Stiles here was the exception. I was pleasantly surprised by his gusto. I was unpleasantly disappointed in how long it took all of you to get here. I mean, you couldn’t even track him?  _ He _ had to lead  _ you _ here.”

Stiles hated how this Oliver guy talked about him like he wasn’t there. He also hated how proud he sounded, like Stiles fighting for his life and surviving was him passing some sort of test. 

Oliver gazed at the wolves across the room, assessing them, one at a time. “The plan was to eventually start hacking off parts of him, and delivering them to your doorsteps. But now I’m down two betas. I need to swell my ranks.” 

Stiles could feel the leering gaze that Oliver was giving him, and wanted to turn away from it, but didn’t have the strength to. “Raw talent like that shouldn’t be wasted.”

“You bastard!” Sheriff Stilinski spat out as he turned the corner into the room. He was enraged. His gun was pointed at Oliver’s head, and he was barely resisting the urge to shoot him. 

_ No. No, no, no, no.  _ Stiles thought.  _ His dad couldn’t be here. He couldn’t be in danger. He couldn’t know this part of their world. This was the worst possible thing that could happen. _

“Dad,” he rasped out. He wanted to plead with his dad to leave, to save himself and the others. Stiles wanted to tell him to run far away, to find somewhere to hide, to start over. Mostly, Stiles wanted to tell him that he loved him, but that it was his time to go.

“Don’t worry, son,” he replied, emotion clear in his voice. “We’re gonna get you out of here. You’re going to be okay.”

“Aw, how sweet,” Greg taunted. “Daddy’s come to the rescue. He’s not getting out of here alive,  _ old man _ . And neither are you.”

“We’ll see about that,  _ boy _ .” Stiles had never heard his dad sound like that before. He knew his dad’s serious voice, his exasperated voice, his joking voice, and his grief stricken voice. But he had never heard his dad sound  _ dangerous _ . 

Greg, at least, Stiles thinks it was Greg, snarled out, “Bring it on, pops.” A gunshot rang out. There was a rage filled cry of pain, then a sinister laugh, followed by a bunch of growling, and another gunshot. It all happened in the span of a couple of seconds. 

Hazily, shapes moved past him. Instead of two separate packs on opposite sides of the room, they were all huddled in the middle. They all blurred together, like a watercolor painting. Though Stiles’ head was foggy, he did his best to focus his eyesight. 

Derek and Oliver were slashing and growling in a well practiced dance. They were of similar build, so it was impossible to tell who had the upper hand. Boyd, Isaac, and Erica were all to the side. Isaac was trying to outmaneuver Kyle’s manic movements, and Boyd, while stronger, was getting sliced up by Tori, who moved incredibly fast. Erica actually seemed to be holding her own pretty well against Greg. Scott, bless him, was running interference between them all. Kicking here, scratching there, trying to even the playing field. Still, even though Stiles couldn’t really see the specific movements in detail, he knew they were losing. They had only been werewolves for a short time, and didn’t have the experience needed to take on a stronger pack. Especially a blue eyed pack that enjoys hurting others. 

Tori moved in a flash, her blonde ponytail whipping around like a really fast windmill. She sliced at Boyd's neck, but he moved just in time, and it caught his face instead. It was a deep cut, Stiles could tell that even from a distance. Boyd cried out. Tori jumped a couple of feet in the air and drop kicked Boyd to the ground. She was about to finish him off, when Lydia -beautiful, intelligent,  _ fierce _ Lydia- popped up behind her. 

“Hey, bitch!” 

Tori swung around, her pointed fangs dripping with saliva. Before she could even raise her clawed hand up to strike, Lydia sprayed her right in the face with her bubblegum pink can of pepper spray. Tori wailed and swung out blindly. Lydia, even though she was wearing 3 inch heels, sidestepped Tori’s claws in a surprisingly swift movement, and primly speed walked her way over to Stiles. She knelt down beside him, not paying any attention to the fact that she was now kneeling in a puddle of his blood. She grasped his hand in a tight, shaky grip. Assessing his injuries, she swallowed thickly. Stiles could tell what the look on her face meant, and it wasn’t anything good. She was thinking about where she should even begin to apply pressure to stop the bleeding, when he was bleeding from everywhere.

“You..are a beautiful...strawberry blonde...goddess,” Stiles managed to rasp out in between his heaving breaths. 

“And don’t you forget it,” Lydia said hoarsely, with a strained smile and tears in her eyes. “We need to get you out of here.” She stood up, grabbing him under the arms. He hissed in pain and bit his lip to prevent himself from crying out. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Lydia kept whispering to him as she tried to drag him back out the door that he came in through. She slipped and slid a couple of times in his blood, but regained her balance. He tried to help her, but his limbs wouldn’t listen to his brain. 

When he could, he tried to look around for his dad. At one point, he caught the flash of his badge gleaming. He could still hear gunshots, and wondered just how many clips his dad had brought with him. 

In the background, Tori was crawling on the ground, her hands wiping viciously at her eyes. She couldn’t see the redhead, but she could hear those stupid heels clacking against the ground, and that was enough to find her. Slowly, she started moving in the direction of the  _ click-clack  _ noises. 

Something moved in the corner of his eye. Stiles turned his head, scared that it might be more people in Oliver’s pack showing up. Instead, he saw Jackson slipping in through the swinging kitchen door. He moved quietly, stealthily. Once he set his sight on Lydia, Jackson ran right through the fray, bobbing and weaving his way through them. Distracted by Jackson’s sudden appearance, and trying to remember how to speak so he could alert Lydia to her boyfriend’s presence, he failed to see Tori approaching until it was too late. 

“Lydia,” he called out as loud as he could, which wasn’t very loud at all. Still, she heard him, and turned in the direction he was looking, to see swollen and red rimmed eyes staring back at her. Tori smiled with her mouth full of sharp teeth, and crouched down like she was about to pounce. If he had the strength to move his limbs, Stiles would have thrown himself in front of his friend. 

Instead, Jackson surprised Tori by grabbing her by the back of her neck, claws digging in and making pinpricks in her flesh. Her creepy watery eyes opened wide in surprise, and Jackson threw her to the side. It was the first time Stiles had seen Jackson really wolf out. Despite the hilarity of the mutton chops, a thing which Stiles was going to relentlessly mock him for if he managed to survive this night, it suited him. 

Jackson’s arrival seemed to be a turning point. Greg and Erica were still going at it, but once Erica started stumbling from her injuries, Isaac joined in to fight alongside her. Where she was all offense, Isaac was all defense. They moved around each other effortlessly. It was actually beautiful to watch. 

Boyd was on his feet now, and although his face still looked really bad, he was holding his own. Scott was helping him, but when he noticed that Jackson was there, he called him over to help them. At first, Jackson didn’t move.

Lydia shoved him. “Go help them!”

He looked at her like the thought of leaving her physically pained him. “But…”

Her gaze softened as she noticed his internal struggle. “Go! I’ll be fine. I need to get Stiles out of here.”

Something in her voice must have reassured him, because Jackson took off and tag teamed with Boyd to fight Kyle. Since Jackson was there to help, Scott slipped away to help Derek. 

Derek and Oliver were both born wolves. They had a similar amount of strength and speed, as well as stamina. The difference was that Derek was in tune with his pack. He worried about them, and would occasionally search them out to make sure they were okay. Oliver, on the other hand, fought like he had nothing to lose. He didn’t get distracted by trying to ensure the safety of his pack like Derek did. Oliver didn’t care about his pack. Not really. They were a means to an end. To him, their purpose was to serve him, to make him stronger. If one of them were killed, he probably wouldn’t even notice.

Derek would notice, but his pack was important to him.

When Scott, who was small but swift, cut in the fight between the two alpha’s, Derek didn’t protest. This wasn’t about him, his pride, or his ego. This wasn’t about proving who the strongest wolf was. This was about saving Stiles. It was about getting his pack through this in one piece. So Derek worked with Scott, a boy he didn’t trust, because he knew they were on the same page in this fight. They didn’t want anyone else getting hurt, didn’t want anyone they cared about to die.

Together, they fought side by side, as equals for the first time. Derek would come at Oliver from the front, since he was stronger. Scott, the leaner of the two, would slip between them and strike from behind. When Oliver turned to attack Scott, Derek would sweep his legs. It was as if they had been fighting together for years. 

Lydia was slowly but surely dragging him to the nearest exit. She was breathing hard, obviously not used to what was essentially  _ weightlifting _ . 

Kyle had managed to throw Jackson into Boyd, knocking them both down. He pounced on Jackson, effectively pinning him down, which by extension pinned Boyd down. He kept slashing away at Jackson, who was yelling in pain. He tried to block his face with his arms and scratch Kyle when he could. Kyle wasn’t even trying to go for the throat. None of the wounds he was inflicting upon Jackson were fatal ones. He was playing with him, enjoying ripping him apart. 

Stiles felt Lydia stiffen behind him, no doubt seeing the same sight that he was. He squeezed one of her hands, silently letting her know it was okay to leave him and help. He hoped she understood, seeing as how he couldn’t find the energy to speak. 

She looked down at Stiles with teary eyes, before gently laying him down. She ran towards the love of her life, brandishing her pepper spray that she had magically pulled out from  _ somewhere _ . Before she could reach, two shots rang out. 

The first went to Kyle’s heart. The second went right through his head. Both were kill shots. Had Kyle been human, he’d definitely be dead. In fact, even though he was a werewolf and the bullets weren’t wolfsbane, he still might be dead. Stiles hoped he couldn’t heal from those shots. Jackson was covered in blood, both his own and Kyle’s, and maybe a little of Boyd’s, too. Boyd all but shoved Jackson off of him in annoyance. Lydia ran to Jackson’s side, immediately trying to staunch the copious amounts of bleeding. Jackson’s face was twisted in pain. Kyle was on the ground a few feet away, as still as a wooden beam, blood radiating out on the ground around him. 

To the side, Erica was winding down. She was exhausted and bleeding profusely from a nasty head wound. The broken chair parts that littered the floor around them made it obvious what had caused it. Isaac, too, seemed to be running on fumes. Greg, however, seemed to be going strong. In fact, he had a smile on his face. Even though Erica gave as good as she got, he seemed like he was  _ enjoying _ this. 

Boyd lumbered over to help them, though he also seemed drained. Three on one should have turned the odds in their favor, but Greg still managed to get some good shots in on all three of the betas. He clearly had experience fighting. Still, they weren’t giving up, and Stiles felt a swell of pride in his chest at how far they’d come. 

Tori must’ve risen at some point. She had jumped on Scott’s back. Her legs were crossed around his middle, so his efforts to throw her off were all in vain. He held her wrists in his hands to keep her from going for his throat. He reared his head back and a sickening crunch rang out before she howled in fury and blood poured out of her nose, down her blouse, and onto Scott’s back. 

Enraged, she reared her head back and howled, before biting into Scott’s neck as hard as she could. His best friend cried out, finally letting one of her hands go so he could grip her head and try and pull her off. The more he tried to dislodge her, the harder she dug in. Her free hand was trying to claw at his eyes, but he kept moving his head around as best as he could. 

Stiles' limbs twitched, but he could still barely lift his head up. He had never felt so powerless. All he could do was lie there on the cold cafeteria floor, slowly dying as he watched his  _ brother _ get his throat ripped out by some crazy bitch’s teeth. Tears filled his eyes before sliding down his face, and he couldn’t even reach his hand up to wipe them away. 

Derek had Oliver backed into a corner. He was finally winning his fight, but then he felt a tug in his chest. A tug that pulled at his instincts, and all but forced him to look for the one it was coming from. To his surprise, it wasn't his betas. It wasn’t Jackson, or Scott. He looked over near the exit, and saw Stiles using what little strength that remained within him to move. He looked heartbroken, and Derek followed his gaze. 

He saw Scott trying desperately to dislodge Tori, who was starting to shake her head rabidly in an attempt to do even more damage. He quickly turned back around to Oliver, not wanting to put his back to an enemy for too long. The other alpha was healing quickly, but was still moving sluggishly. Derek could kill him right now. He  _ should _ kill him. He trespassed on Derek’s territory, tried to take it from him. He attacked Stiles, who was at least partially a member of his pack. A formerly  _ human _ member. 

Rage filled Derek. Rage and hatred. They were feelings he knew well. He could feel his red eyes burning that much brighter, could feel his wounds closing up and his growls getting louder. Oliver gazed up at him with what looked like fear, and the wolf in Derek was satisfied with that. He wanted to see more of that fear. He wanted to hurt, to kill. He wanted to end this fight, and take his betas back to the train depot to check them over. He wanted to get Stiles to a hospital, or at least to Deaton. He wanted this to be  _ over _ . The wolf side of him was convinced that all he had to do was kill this other alpha.

Instead, he roared at Oliver, before turning his back on him and running over to Scott. Tori, sensing danger, peered up at Derek’s incoming form, and finally removed her teeth from Scott’s neck. It was bleeding profusely, staining Scott’s whole front crimson. He was looking pale, and his face was scratched up. Once Tori slid off of his back, he fell to his knees, and covered his gaping wound with his hand. 

Tori looked terrified. She obviously hadn’t expected to be facing off against the alpha. She sought out her own alpha, and when she saw that Oliver was still alive, she called out for him. He didn’t respond.

Derek attacked her, slashing and punching, all the while dodging her desperate attacks. She was lightning fast, but Derek was much stronger. One hit from him was like six hits from her. He was also an alpha, which meant the wounds he inflicted on her weren’t healing. She was about to be killed, and she knew it. 

“Oliver! Help me!” Tori screeched out, just barely avoiding being gutted by Derek’s claws. “Oliver!”

Stealing a quick glance to her alpha, they made eye contact. Oliver looked conflicted, and for a second she thought he would come to her rescue. They loved each other after all. She was his first beta. His most loyal pack member. He would help her, would make Derek Hale pay. 

And then that look of confliction was erased away, and Oliver slowly rose to his feet and crossed his arms. He sneered at her, and simply said, “Weakling.”

All the fight seemed to leave Tori in that moment, and Derek almost felt sorry for the girl, before reminding himself that she was bloodthirsty, and had tried to murder half of his pack. She was still gazing at Oliver with shocked eyes when Derek slashed his claws over her throat in a quick and efficient movement. 

Tori fell to her knees, blood pouring from her throat. She coughed up blood once, twice, three times. Her werewolf blue eyes faded into normal human ones, and she fell face first to the ground. Stiles felt vindictively happy about it. 

Scott was still down, weak and shaky from the blood loss, but he was bleeding less now that the wound was starting to seal itself shut. Jackson was sitting up, with Lydia’s help, of course. Erica was leaning against the far wall, her head lolling back and forth. She looked barely conscious. 

Boyd's face was healing nicely, and he had Greg pinned to the ground. Isaac, who had a nasty cut across his chest, limped over to kneel beside Boyd, grabbing hold of Greg as well, just in case. His dad’s stun gun laid on the floor a couple of feet away, the wires extended. Electrocuting Greg must’ve been what finally took him down. Stiles smiled at that. His dad was awesome. 

Apparently, his dad had also cuffed him, but judging by the now separated bracelets on both of Greg’s wrist, he had underestimated a werewolf’s strength. With Kyle and Tori both down for the count, and Greg subdued, Oliver seemed less viscous. Maybe he realized that he had lost. 

“It’s over, Oliver.” Derek stared the other alpha down, one set of red eyes meeting another. 

Oliver had the audacity to laugh. He sounded like a cartoon villain.  _ Seriously, this guy is turning into a caricature of himself,  _ Stiles thought. Sure, their side wasn’t in great condition, but Oliver’s side definitely lost this one. Why didn’t this guy see that? 

“That’s what you think, Hale. But it’s not over until I say it’s over!” Oliver raged, his voice more animal than human now. His face was changing, not into the pointy eared, mutton chopped kind of way, but in the Peter Hale Beast kind of way. His head was jerking around as his neck thickened. His clothes started ripping at the seams like the  _ Incredible fucking Hulk.  _ His face elongated and his jaw unhinged, widening his mouth tremendously. It looked like a person’s  _ head _ could fit in it.

“What the fuck,” Isaac whispered in the background. He and Boyd had matching expressions of awe and horror. 

“Not again,” Jackson groaned against Lydia’s shoulder. She was pale and shaking, and was staring unblinkingly at the sight before her. She was no doubt thinking about Peter. Stiles wished he could go over there and comfort her. 

Oliver now looked more animal than human. His knuckles were locking his hands into paw shapes, his fingers unable to extend out. His body jerked around as his noises of discomfort turned guttural. He fell onto all fours as the muscles in his legs changed, making him unable to stand up straight. Rearing his head back, Oliver roared so loud it shook the walls. Some of the wolves covered their ears. 

His spine was moving, contorting into a different shape, and his shoulder blades sharpened. Small patches of short and coarse hair started sprouting everywhere. It was grotesque. Throughout his transformation, everybody stood by shocked. Well, everyone except Derek, Scott, Jackson, and Stiles. They had seen this before, though it wasn’t any  _ less _ gross now. Even Greg looked horrified. 

His dad looked both bewildered and disgusted at the same time. Then, as if he had just remembered where he was, he snapped out of his astonishment and ran over to Stiles. Oliver -or what was left of him- followed the movement with his radioactive eyes. 

The beast looked like it was about to follow, but Derek stepped in its path, roaring in warning. It roared back, and ran at him. Scott was on his feet at this point, and while still swaying woozily, he was wolfed out and prepared to help as much as he could. 

His dad engulfed him in a tight hug. Stiles bit his lip against the pain, but didn’t ever want him to let go. It took a lot of effort, but eventually he managed to move his hands enough to pat at his father’s arms. His dad’s shoulders were shaking, and Stiles knew what that meant, but also knew his father wouldn’t really want him to acknowledge it. So, he gracefully refrained from pointing the silent sobbing out. The Sheriff leaned back, wiping at his eyes and nose, and really took in his son’s appearance. 

“Jesus, kid,” John whispered in despair, his voice breaking. “Look at you.”

“I’d rather not,” Stiles croaked out. He really didn’t want to see what he looked like. He knew it wasn’t pretty. He felt like one big open wound. A gaping, painful, and possibly infected open wound. No bandaid or neosporin was going to fix  _ this _ . 

“You’re going to be okay, Stiles.” His dad sounded like he was trying to reassure himself just as much as he was trying to reassure Stiles, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. He didn’t believe a word of it, but he appreciated it. 

It would be so easy to close his eyes now. It would be so easy to drift off, to let all the pain and uncertainty go. His dad was here, and he couldn’t possibly be any safer now. His dad would be devastated, of course. But he survived his mom’s death, he would survive Stiles death, too. Scott would be there for him, and Melissa. Maybe all the wolves will be there for him, now that he knows everything. His dad could be pack. 

His dad divested himself of his uniform shirt, leaving him in just his white undershirt. He pressed the fabric against one of Stiles’ many wounds, he wasn’t sure which, not that it really mattered.  _ All those blood stains are going to be impossible to get out,  _ Stiles thought absentmindedly. Letting his head roll to the side, he looked across the now destroyed cafeteria. 

In his relief at being reunited with his dad, Stiles had almost forgotten about the giant rage beast in the room. Derek and Scott were trying to attack from both sides. Boyd, Isaac, and surprisingly, Jackson were trying to herd Oliver away from the exits, and into the cluster of tables nearby. It was a smart plan. The tables would give them height, and places to jump off of. Considering how large the beast was, they would need all the help they could get. 

Erica, while still looking like she was beaten to a pulp, was holding Greg down. He was face up now, and while Erica kept him pinned, Lydia had her heeled shoe pressed down on his crotch. Greg looked more afraid of Lydia than he did of the beast. 

Oliver was frothing at the mouth, and there was no sign of humanity or recognition in his eyes. He was completely gone now. He had lost four betas today in total. All he had left was Greg, which wasn’t much. Oliver essentially became an omega, and had gone off the power-hungry deep end just like Peter had. 

He threw Scott and Derek around like rag dolls, but they kept getting back up. Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson played a more active part now, each getting in a few good shots before they, too, went flying across the room. Turning his attention back to his dad, he immediately went cold. 

“No.” he clutched his dad’s arm as tightly as he could, which wasn’t very. “I know that look,” he gasped out. It was the look his dad got when things were going south and he had to intervene. It was the look that said  _ ‘I’m the Sheriff and it’s my job to serve and protect.’  _ It was the look that meant he was about to do something brave and noble and righteous, because his father was a good man. One of the best. Which is why Stiles was desperate not to lose him.  __ “No. You can’t go. It’ll kill you.”

John looked down at his son’s big brown eyes.  _ Claudia’s eyes.  _ His son had inherited John’s stubbornness, but also the instinct to protect people, especially the ones he cared about. But his heart, all that passion, those  _ eyes _ ? Those were Claudia’s traits, through and through. His son was out there every night, dealing with creatures that should've only existed in fairy tales and folklore. _ werewolves _ , and who knows what else, just so he could help his friends, and save the people of Beacon Hills. 

They had raised a damn good kid. 

“I’m proud of you, son.” John tried not to choke up when his son sobbed. 

“Dad, don’t go. Please, just...just get me out of here, okay? Let’s just go!” Stiles’ voice was hoarse, but his dad heard every word. “I love you. Don’t go.”

“I love you, too. Always.” He pressed their foreheads together, and pressed a kiss into Stiles’s sweaty hair. “I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do, son. You understand?”

Stiles understood. He hated it. He hated it more than he’s ever hated anything in his whole  _ life _ , but he understood. His father needed to help. It was who he was. 

Stiles nodded, and John squeezed his hand once more. He looked down at Stiles with a mixture of adoration and sadness, before releasing his hand. He stood up and started walking towards the beast, who had Derek pinned under one giant paw, and Scott and Isaac were trying to help him move it. Boyd and Jackson were trying to hold onto the other arm. Oliver peered down at Derek in satisfaction. Drool drips in heavy rivulets onto the floor. The beast looked like it wanted to eat Derek alive. 

That’s when John grabbed a nearby chair, and hauled it straight at the beast’s head. It hit him hard enough to knock his head over, and his paw let up just enough for Derek to slide free. The chair had splintered into a dozen pieces on impact. The beast turned its head and glared menacingly at John. He had one bullet left in his gun. He had to make it count. 

Oliver swept his giant paw out, hitting Jackson and Boyd and propelling them into the wall. Both fell to the floor in a heap. Scott and Derek rushed forward, trying to distract the beast away from John, but Oliver was obsessed. He had locked onto his target like a torpedo, and he wasn’t going to fail his mission. He rushed forward, ramming his head into Scott and Derek, knocking both to the floor and winding them. They narrowly avoided being stomped on as the beast ran towards the Sheriff. 

Stiles could do nothing but watch in horror as his dad raised his gun, pointing it at the monster’s head. He must’ve assumed that because the bullets took Kyle down, that it would work for Oliver, too. Stiles knew better, though. 

He couldn’t watch this. He couldn’t look away, either. 

Oliver came close enough for John to fire his shot directly between his eyes. It barely slowed him down. Instead of bracing for impact, John was going to try and dodge the attack. 

Right as the beast was about to rip his dad apart, Isaac swooped in from the side and half shielded, half shoved him to the side. A series of snaps resonated through the room as the beast tore into Isaac’s side, clenching it’s jaws tightly before lifting Isaac off the ground. It moved it’s head back and forth rapidly, like Isaac was a chew toy, before slinging him into a table. The table split in two upon impact. Isaac didn’t move. 

John crawled on all fours over to his son. The combination of being shoved by a werewolf, partially rammed by a super beast, and hitting the floor had made him lose his breath. His left side ribs were hurting something fierce, a sharp pain flared each time he breathed. But he was alive. 

Derek let out a savage roar at seeing what had happened to his beta. He had lost enough pack members for a lifetime. He couldn’t lose any more. He gripped the metal leg of a nearby table, snapping it off. Scott seemed to catch on to the plan, and howled ferociously. He ran and jumped on a table, using it as leverage to leap onto Oliver’s back. He dug his claws in, and while it didn’t do much damage, it did distract him for a few seconds, which was all Derek needed. He slid under the beast, and shoved the metal pole right into his heart. 

Oliver let out a surprised whine. He stumbled around gracelessly, trying to pull the pole out. But his hands were paws now, and he didn’t have extendable fingers needed to grasp it and pull it free. Scott slid off of him, hitting the ground with a thud. Slowly, and repulsively, Oliver’s body started changing back. It seemed like he was stuck in limbo between a mangled, deformed monstrosity, and something that was sort of human like. He sank to the floor as he coughed up blood. The pole looked much bigger sticking out of his human sized body. He twitched a few times, before stilling. His wild red eyes faded to brown. 

The cafeteria was silent except for all the heavy breathing. Relief flooded Stiles, both at his dad being alive, and that the other alpha was dead. It was over. 

Derek had ran to Isaac’s side immediately after Oliver died. He still wasn’t moving, or responding at all, but he was breathing. His entire torso was shredded. Stiles was pretty sure he saw an organ or two. Bile rose in his throat, but he didn’t have the energy to let it out. Jackson had his arms wrapped firmly around Lydia. Boyd held Erica’s face in his hands. He was asking her questions to see how lucid she was. Scott, who wanted to run to his friend, but also wanted to give the Stilinski’s their privacy, had taken over Greg duty. Stiles and his dad hugged each other vigorously. 

Everything seemed to settle down, when Stiles noticed a shadow looming near them. Before he could get a word out, his dad was yanked off of him. 

Kyle stood behind his father, his claws resting against his throat. The bullet hole in his head was still open, and it looked like the bullet was trying to be pushed out, but only made it halfway there. Kyle’s movement’s were jerky, and his eyes were constantly roaming around and blinking, like he couldn’t control them. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, trying and failing to say something. The damage to his brain must have impacted his motor skills and speech. 

“Get your hands off of him,” Scott threatened. Greg was at his feet, grinning maniacally. 

“Kill him, Kyle. Cut the human open.”

“Shut up,” Erica spat. She smacked him upside the head violently. Clearly, she was feeling better. 

Kyle, while brain damaged, still had his instincts. He knew he was outnumbered, and didn’t stand a chance. He was using the Sheriff as leverage as he slowly backed his way to the exit. Derek took a step closer, and Kyle’s hand tightened around John’s throat, pricking his skin open with his claws. Tiny droplets of blood formed and slid down his throat like tree sap slides down the trunk of a tree. 

His back was to the exit, but it was also to Stiles. Kyle’s instincts clearly didn’t see him as a threat. That was his mistake. Seething with hatred for this asshole who was trying to take his father from him burned through Stiles like wildfire. He could feel his body heating up, a welcome relief from the chill he had all day. His face felt weird, and his gums were itchy. His vision tunneled until all he could see was his dad and Kyle. His father’s racing heartbeat, and Kyle’s fluctuating one, roared in his ears. It was all he could hear. All he could smell was Kyle’s blood from his wounds, and his sweat. Stiles could practically  _ taste _ Kyle’s fear, his anger, his desperation. Before he even realized what he was doing, Stiles was rising to his feet. The pain from his injuries was definitely still there. He was lightheaded and nauseous, and his eyes were stinging. But none of it mattered. All that mattered was his dad’s heartbeat thumping away. Stiles focused on that as pressure built up inside his chest. 

Derek couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t possible, but he was seeing it with his own two eyes. Stiles had stood up with a surprising amount of grace considering his condition. That wasn’t too strange, though, considering the circumstances. Adrenaline did a lot of things to the body, but it didn’t do  _ this. _ All he could do was stare on in fascination. 

A low rumble resonated through Stiles’ whole body. He slowly came up behind Kyle like a predator stalking its prey. One foot in front of the other, quietly advancing. He could feel pressure at the tips of his fingers. A quick glance down showed that his nails had sharpened into claws. His tongue was pricked by his elongated fangs. Stiles could tell his face had changed. He didn’t feel hair at the sides of his face, and he was pretty sure his eyebrows were still present, which was weird, but he didn’t have the luxury of focusing on that now. 

The grumble rose through his gut, into his chest, then his throat. What came next was him following where his instincts led him. A growl, low and threatening, came from his mouth. Kyle, who had been slowly retreating, stopped dead in his tracks. He turned, using Stiles’ dad as a human shield. His dad's face changed from nervous to shocked in a second. Kyle’s eyes were still lazily roaming around, but they were widened. Stiles had surprised him, judging by the jackrabbiting of his heart. Stiles could sense the fear emanating from Kyle, and he smiled _. Good. You should be afraid.  _

Swiftly, Stiles shot out his hand and wrapped it around Kyle’s wrist, jerking it away from his father’s neck, before quickly snapping it. Kyle let out a scream. Bone protruded from the skin, and normally that would be a sight that would make him pass out. Now, it just made him feel satisfied. Kyle swung his other arm out, but his movement’s weren’t as fluid as they were before he was shot. They were jerky, but still had strength behind them. Stiles was tired of looking at his smarmy face. 

Whipping his hand out so quickly that Kyle didn’t even see it coming, he sliced cleanly through his throat. The warmth of the blood staining his hands was a welcome feeling, and he watched unblinkingly as Kyle crumbled to the ground, his blue eyes fading before they closed forever. 

The second it was over, the rage started leaving him. The exhaustion, the fear, the anxiety, it all came back to him in one sweeping force. He lost his balance and his dad caught him just before he hit the ground. His claws and fangs had receded at some point, and his face didn’t feel weird anymore. The last thing he saw before he passed out was his dad staring down at him with a look of curiosity and confusion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew *wipes brow* this was a fun but stressful chapter I hope you enjoy!


	7. Chpt. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group heads to Deaton's for some help.

Convincing the Sheriff to take Stiles to Deaton instead of the ER was not easy. Although Stiles wasn’t human anymore, his father had trouble accepting that. Derek had to remind himself that the man had been through a lot the past few days. He needed to be patient with him, but patience wasn’t something Derek had ever been good at. Fortunately, Boyd was good at it. He managed to convince Stilinski by telling him that Deaton had helped Scott and Derek in the past, and that the Sheriff could go to Deaton with any questions. Derek actually felt vindictively happy about that, because while Deaton was used to being cryptic and coy, the Sheriff was used to interrogating. Immovable object meets unstoppable force. 

Stilinski had carried his son in a surprising show of strength. Jackson was giving Lydia the cold shoulder, while at the same time refusing to leave her side. Boyd and Erica each had a hold on Greg, whom they had knocked unconscious, while Scott had helped Derek carefully move a still unconscious Isaac inside. 

Now, Stiles was laid out on a metal table, while Scott went in the back of the clinic to pull another table out for Isaac. Both were in bad condition. The Sheriff had refused to leave his son’s side, and while the man reeked of fear, confusion, and concern, he kept silent. After depositing Greg on the floor, the betas scooted chairs over in front of the exits and entrances, each placing themselves there like sentinels. Greg wouldn’t be able to leave the room when he woke. Lydia paced back and forth in the waiting room, while Derek and Scott hovered on the edges of the treatment room, where both Isaac and Stiles now laid. 

“What was he? He didn’t look like a werewolf,” Scott inquired, looking at Derek like he was supposed to have all the answers. 

“I’m not sure,” he replied, crossing his arms. 

“Lie.” Scott was looking at him in irritation and disappointment. “Your heart skipped a beat.”

Of course,  _ now _ would be the time when Scott started paying attention to what he had been taught. 

“I think I know, but I’m not entirely sure. I’ve never actually seen one before.”

“Seen  _ what _ ?” Scott asked, starting to get annoyed. 

Derek couldn’t explain why, but he felt reluctant to tell Scott what he thought. The wolf in him was feeling exceptionally protective of Stiles. Whether it was because he was brutally attacked, or because Derek considered him pack, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he didn’t feel like he could trust Scott, and he especially didn’t trust Deaton. 

As if the man could sense he was thinking about him, Deaton glanced over at them. There were bloody towels and bandages surrounding the man, and his white lab coat now had stains on it that would be impossible to get out. He had hooked both of the teens to IVs, pumping fluids through their veins. Deaton had cut off Isaac’s shirt, revealing a mangled mess from his shoulders down to his waist. Even Derek, who had seen his fair share of gore, had flinched at the sight. 

Stiles wasn’t much better. He had a barely healing wound in his stomach, and a severe injury to his leg. Bone and sinew peeked out, and it turned Derek’s stomach to think about how he had received that wound. There was a head contusion, and even though he hadn’t been missing that long, it looked like he had lost a few pounds. His skin was sickly pale, which only made the dark circles surrounding his eyes that much more noticeable. Bruises and cuts stuck out in contrast as well. 

Both boys had a sheen of sweat on their foreheads, and they smelled like they were fighting off infections. Stilinski was at Stiles’ side, clutching his hand tightly. He looked like he was barely keeping it together. Derek fought the urge to comfort the man, unsure if his attempt would be welcomed or not. 

Hours passed before Deaton had finally finished patching them up. He had stitched, bandaged, and medicated them as best as he could. Now, all they could do was wait. The druid emerged from the treatment room, joining the rest of them. 

“Dare I ask what happened?”

Scott was quick to reply. “Stiles was taken by this other wolf pack. He was bitten, and we found him, but had to fight them off. The alpha lost it, and turned into a monster just like Peter. One of them threatened his dad, and he...well, he  _ changed _ , but he looked wrong.”

Derek had bristled at that. Just because Stiles was different, didn’t mean he was  _ wrong _ . He also didn’t like how Scott had described his uncle, even though he knew it was a fair assessment. Peter had been monstrous, but he was still family. The only family Derek had left now. 

He still had nightmares about him killing his uncle, still had trouble coming to grips with it, even though he knew it was a necessary evil. Now that Peter had resurrected himself somehow, Derek felt like he had to watch his back constantly. It was just one of his many concerns. His thoughts were interrupted by the vet sticking his nose into their business yet again. 

“Wrong how?” His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a spike in his scent that told Derek he was a little  _ too _ curious about the answer. 

“His face was different. It was all bony, and he had fangs and stuff, but they were smaller than ours. And his eyes changed, too. His were green, though.”

“Green?” Deaton asked with interest, his eyes gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Scott nodded.

“What does that mean?” came the Sheriff’s voice. The man had separated himself from Stiles finally, though he kept glancing back at his son every few seconds, as if to make sure he was really there. 

“It could mean a great many things,” Deaton answered enigmatically. 

“Such as?” When he didn’t immediately reply, Stilinski crossed his arms over his chest and stood up straighter. “If you have answers, I suggest you give them to me.”

Deaton, who always had the same placid expression on his face, actually looked unsettled at the thinly veiled threat. Derek fought the urge to smile in gleeful satisfaction.

“I understand you want answers, Sheriff Stilinski. However, without more detailed information, I’m afraid I don’t have an answer to give you.”

Stilinski raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “What  _ details _ are you needing exactly?”

“Well, I would need to see the transformation for myself. I would also need to assess any personality changes, as well as how accelerated his healing factor is.” 

The more Deaton talked, the more irritated the Sheriff became. “My son is not some science experiment,  _ Doctor _ .” 

Deaton’s eyes widened. “Of course not, Sheriff. It wasn’t my intention to offend. I simply meant that I would like a visual display of Stiles’ changes, so that I can best ascertain what he has become.”

Derek’s protective instincts flared up again. The thought of the druid seeing Stiles shifted didn't sit well with him. He didn’t want Stiles to be some lab rat for the vet to dissect and poke and prod at. The annoyance, from himself and from Stilinski, seemed to only grow, as if they were feeding off of each other's emotions. 

Before Deaton had a chance to continue his sales pitch, and further vex the Sheriff, Derek blurted out, “Werefox.”

All eyes turned towards him, and he felt strangely awkward all of a sudden, like he was an insecure teenager again. He played it off by glaring around the room. 

“Were _ fox _ ?” Erica asked. “There’s other shifters besides wolves?”

“Of course there are,” Derek answered. “There are many other beings in our world. Some shifters, some not.”

A heavy sigh escaped Stilinski’s mouth. “I’ve just found out about  _ werewolves _ , now there’s  _ werefoxes _ , too!”

Deaton seemed to ignore everyone else in the room, and zeroed his gaze in on Derek. “So you do believe he’s a werefox?”

“Don’t you?” Derek sniped back. “Based on Scott’s description?” 

Deaton paused, like he was choosing his words carefully. “It was my most educated guess.” He took a step closer to Derek. He looked like he wanted to reach out to him, but refrained. Derek even saw his fingers twitch. It made his skin crawl. 

“How certain are you that he’s a fox?” 

“I’ve never seen one,” Derek reluctantly admitted. “But from the stories I’ve heard, it seems the most likely conclusion.”

Deaton nodded serenely. “I see.” The wolf in Derek was itching to come to the surface. He wanted to snap his teeth at him.

“Hale.”

“Yes, Sheriff?”

Stilisnki nodded his head in his son’s direction. “A word?” Derek nodded, and the two men went to the treatment room. Deaton tried to follow, but the older man pointed his finger at him. “Not you.”

Derek fought off a snort at the look on the vet’s face. Deaton looked perplexed and kind of annoyed at being shunned from a room in his own clinic. Before he could say anything, the Sheriff shut the door in his face. 

“I don’t like that man,” Stilisnki said. If Deaton was still standing by the door, he heard every word, since the Sheriff didn’t even try to lower his voice. That made Derek like the man even more, and he gave him a close lipped smile. 

“Nobody does. Except Scott.”

“Well, historically speaking, Scott isn’t the best at reading people. He’s a terrible judge of character. I mean, he befriended my son,” the Sheriff joked, although it fell flat. They both glanced at the nearby tables, where the two boys lay unmoving. 

“That boy saved my life tonight,” John said quietly. Isaac was healing as well as can be expected, and Derek tried to push feelings of comfort and safety through their bond. “That night at the jail, after we arrested him…”

He trailed off, but Derek knew what he was asking. He was wanting to know what really happened that night. “It was Isaac’s first full moon. He didn’t have control yet, and would’ve hurt someone if we hadn’t gotten him out. It also risked exposing us, and the Argents were trying to poison him.”

The Sheriff, who just looked more and more confused, startled at that. “Chris Argent?” Derek nodded. Stilinski ran his hand over his mouth in frustration. “I never liked  _ that _ man, either.”

Before Derek could respond, they heard a groan come from Stiles, and they both rushed to his side. John looked at Derek a little suspiciously at seeing how worried the wolf was for his son, but he let it slide. It had been an emotional night for them all.

He gripped Stiles right hand. “I’m here, son. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Stiles blearily opened his eyes halfway, just enough to make out who was talking to him. The lights were too bright, and the air smelled like chemicals and sick animals. It was abrasive to his nose. He was in so much pain, he could barely breathe. The metal table was cold beneath his body, and turned his head just enough to see Isaac’s prone form next to him. 

He wanted to ask if he was alright, if everyone was okay. He wanted to ask what happened, because his mind was so hazy. Instead, he just whispered a soft, “Dad.”

John had never been so happy to hear that word. His son was alive, was aware enough of his surroundings to make out his father’s voice. It soothed some of his worry, and despite seeing evidence to the contrary, he knew Stiles would be okay. 

“It’s okay, kid. Go back to sleep. You need your rest.”

Stiles gave a barely noticeable nod, before setting his sights on Derek. For some reason, he felt just as protected with Derek by his side, as he did with his dad. He tried to move his arm, to reach out and touch the alpha, though he wasn’t sure why he wanted to. He winced in pain at the motion, and sucked in a breath. 

“Don’t move!” John exclaimed, visibly upset at seeing his son in so much pain. “Just lay still.”

Derek gently took his left hand in his, and started pulling his pain. Black lines creeped down Stiles’ arm, and up Derek’s. Though the pain was immense, Derek didn’t even flinch. He just kept staring into those warm brown eyes. “Sleep,” he muttered.

So Stiles, surrounded by his father and his alpha, did just that. 

  
  
  


Once Stiles fell back asleep, Derek went out to tell the others that he had woken up for a bit. Most knew already, because they had listened in. Still, judging by the looks on their faces and the smell of relief wafting off of all of them, it was something they needed to hear. 

“Erica, Boyd.” The two betas gave him their attention. “I want you two to go back to the depot and get cleaned up. Then you can go home and rest.”

“We want to stay here,” replied Boyd.

“Yeah,” Erica agreed. “We don’t want to leave Isaac and Stiles right now.”

“Why not?” Derek was pretty sure he knew the answer, but wanted it confirmed. 

The two betas looked at each other, then back at him before Boyd spoke, “Leaving would just feel...wrong.”

It was exactly as he thought. They felt their back bond to Isaac strongly now, but apparently they also felt that bond with Stiles. If his betas had become aware of it, then it meant that Stiles was officially considered pack. 

“Okay. Go get cleaned up, then come back here. Bring food. We’ll be here a while.” They nodded and rose to their feet. They were sore and still mildly injured, but they were healing well. Derek went up to them, and placed a hand on their shoulders. “You did exceptionally well tonight. I’m proud of you.” He was pleased and impressed, and tried to send those feelings through their bonds, so they would know just how much he meant it. 

Erica gave him a soft smile. The kind of smile the old Erica would have given. Boyd, while he didn’t react physically, felt delighted at the compliment, and thankful for it, which was made obvious by the chemosignals he was giving off. He handed Boyd his keys, and the two betas left. He could hear the engine revving outside. He didn’t know where Lydia and Jackson had gone off to, and wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. He dropped down in a nearby chair, rubbing his face in his hands. The exhaustion from the adrenaline crash had finally caught up to him.

  
  


Lydia had followed Jackson to the storage room because she wanted to be alone with him. Even though she knew the others could listen in, shutting the door behind her gave them the illusion of privacy. Jackson was acting off, and she wanted to know why.

“What’s going on, Jackson. What’s wrong?” He folded his arms and leaned against a shelf, refusing to look at her. 

“You’re seriously going to ignore me?” Lydia asked, with a clear warning in her voice. She crossed her arms as well, mimicking his posture, and waited for Jackson to give her an answer. He just continued to stare at the wall. 

“Unbelievable! What is your problem?”

Silence. 

“If you want to behave like a child, then fine! I’ll be with Stiles. Come find me when you grow up.” She stomped away, but before she opened the door, Jackson said her name softly, stopping her in her tracks. She turned to face him, and he looked frightened. 

“I thought you were going to die. That crazy bitch was right there, it would have been so easy for her to kill you. Why did you go there without me?” He sounded hurt and pissed at the same time, and concern was etched on his features. 

“I...I didn’t know I would be going there. I just followed the noises. Then I saw Scott, and I could tell he knew where Stiles was. I just wanted to help him.”

“You could have called me! I would’ve met you there. We could have gone in together. Instead, you went with  _ McCall _ ,” he said venomously. 

Lydia scoffed. “Really? You’re upset because I went there with  _ Scott _ ?”

“I’m upset because you could’ve been killed, and then what would I do? How would I keep control? If you had died, I might have lost it and killed someone.”

Lydia felt a stab of hurt in her chest. She knew that what Jackson had done under Matt and Gerard’s influences weighed heavily on him. He felt guilt for all of those deaths, even though it wasn’t really him. She had tried on numerous occasions to talk to him about, with no success. It made sense why he would be obsessed with maintaining control now. Still, the fact that he only saved her because he wanted to save  _ himself _ , cut her deeply. 

“I’m sorry, Jackson. I really am. But saving Stiles’ life was more important than your daily angst filled pity party.” She turned around and exited the room, slamming the door behind her. The echo resonated in the tiny space, and Jackson sighed as he pressed his forehead to the wall. Why couldn’t he do anything right?

  
  


Erica and Boyd had brought back several pizzas, and made themselves comfortable in the waiting room. Jackson had already left. Scott drove Lydia back to the school to get her car so she could return home. Derek followed them there. He didn’t like the thought of leaving Isaac while he was in such a vulnerable position, but he knew Erica and Boyd would keep an eye on him. No one would be coming near Stiles with the Sheriff by his side. Deaton had placed a mountain ash circle around Greg, and afterwards started sanitizing his work area, while occasionally peeking at Stiles’ prone form with the same scrutinization one would use when solving a Rubix cube. 

Derek had suggested John join him and Scott in cleaning up the mess at the school, but the man refused. He had told them it didn’t have to be completely spotless, they just had to erase all traces of themselves. That meant getting rid of Oliver’s half shifted body, and Kyle and Tori’s corpses. If they removed Donovan’s body, it would be more suspicious. There was too much blood in the carpet to get out. They also decided to leave the charred body in the chemistry lab, seeing as how the room showed obvious signs of a fire. John would have to write them off as a couple of druggies who broke in and had some bizarre accidents. It would definitely be far fetched, but it was the best they could do with what little time they had. And his deputies as well as the civilians wouldn’t be able to come up with anything better to counter it. There would be gossip for weeks, but eventually it would die down, until the next weird occurrence happened in Beacon Hills. 

The two worked tirelessly for hours. Scott’s face was scrunched in displeasure the entire time. He still wasn’t used to the brutality that came with this life. Derek, on the other hand, had buried many bodies over the years. Most were loved ones. The preserve went on for miles, and most of it had been privately owned by his family. After Laura died, he had everything switched under his name. Hopefully, it would keep people from trespassing and accidentally stumbling upon the unmarked graves.The sun was setting in the sky, and Derek was thankful that it was a Sunday. No school meant they could breathe easy for a day, or at least half. At some point, an anonymous call would have to be made. 

Still stunned at the amount of damage Stiles did to Oliver’s pack, Derek couldn’t help but feel some excitement that Stiles was now a shifter. It was unfortunate how it happened, and Derek would much rather it be him that had bitten Stiles, but he was something truly unique now. He was a quick learner, so Derek had the feeling he would be very good at this. Maybe he could help train the betas like he helped train Scott. Maybe he could help Derek find a new anchor. 

Maybe he could  _ be _ that anchor. 


	8. Chpt. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get some answers about what happened to Stiles.

Elvis Presley’s ‘Hound Dog’ was playing on the radio. Stiles’ mom used to listen to the oldies station, so Stile did the same from time to time. He was driving back from the library after having fallen into another research wormhole. Harpies? No, thank you.

There was static coming from the police scanner, so he quickly turned down the radio to listen in, but the static made the muffled words too unclear. Fiddling with the controls, he barely had time to swerve out of the way to avoid hitting the woman that had just stumbled out of the woods and onto the street. The breaks screeched as he came to an abrupt stop. The girl put her hand up to shield her eyes from his headlights. 

“Help! Help me, please!”

Shaking himself out of his shocked stupor, he scrambled out of the jeep. He was prepared to rush to her side, and made it halfway there, until her hand fell and her eyes reflected off the headlights. That definitely wasn’t normal, and a lump formed in his stomach. Suddenly feeling very exposed out in the open, he backtracked towards the jeep. 

“Help me!” the girl called again. This time it sounded weaker, like she was barely trying to sound convincing. That set off red alarms in Stiles head, who turned and ran to his jeep, shutting and locking the door behind him. He reached for his keys, ready to burn rubber and get the hell away, but they were gone from the ignition. Frantically, Stiles searched his jacket pockets, then his jeans’. He didn’t have them! And his phone, where was it? It wasn’t sitting on the middle console anymore. 

Leaning down, his hand ran along the mat under his feet, thinking maybe he dropped them, but there was nothing. Just as he was sitting back up, a clawed finger tapped on his window three times in quick succession. Startled, he gave a yelp and saw a boy barely older than himself on the other side. The guy grinned widely, showing off his pointed canines. He held Stiles’ phone in one hand, the screen cracked. He held the keys up between his index finger and thumb with the other hand, and jangled them. “Looking for these?” 

Before he could react, Stiles was startled again when there was a popping sound, and the back of his jeep leaned down lower. Someone had just slashed his tire. He wanted to look back, to see who it was, and how many of them were out there, but he didn’t dare look away from the creep. Heart beating dangerously fast, he forced himself to subdue the panic. He grabbed the police scanner’s radio transceiver and held the button down. “Dispatch? Dispatch are you there?”

In an instant, the ‘injured’ girl ran and jumped on the hood, growling menacingly at him before punching her fist through the glass, and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Glass scattered everywhere. Stiles unzipped his jacket and wormed his way out of it, before the girl brought her hand out and punched another hole in, her clawed fingers trying to snatch him up again. Meanwhile, the guy with his keys decided to scratch his jeep with them, producing a horrible high pitched sound similar to the background music in every slasher film ever. It did nothing to quell his fear. The other guy elbowed the driver’s side window until it cracked and shattered. Stiles crawled to the passenger seat, and tried to unlock the door. He was easy prey right now. Making a run for it was his only chance. Half of the guy's body was through the window, and he latched onto Stiles' leg, poking holes in him with his claws. Stiles kicked the guy in the face with a satisfying crunch, and was released. The girl on the hood was using the holes she had made to pull the windshield completely off. Her hands were clenched so tightly on the glass that trickles of blood ran down, but she didn’t seem to notice. 

Opening his glove box, he pulled out a spice jar full of wolfsbane powder. Unlocking the passenger side, he slithered out and fell into a heap on the ground, before hurriedly rising to his feet running for the treeline. The two werewolves weren’t following him, which was odd, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that. 

The damage done to his leg wasn’t severe, so it didn’t slow him down much. After slipping into the trees and finally feeling a glimmer of hope that he might survive after all, a tree branch swung at him, hitting him in the stomach and knocking the wind out of him. Stiles fell back onto the ground, clutching his abdomen and looking for his attacker. 

A woman, youthful and beautiful, appeared between the trees. She was dressed nicely, like Lydia Martin nicely, and was wearing heels...in the forest. She tossed the branch to the side like it weighed nothing, and brushed herself off like she had dirt on her, but her outfit was spotless. Stiles crab walked back until he was against a tree, still trying to catch his breath. She knelt down beside him, giving him an amused smile. “You did better than I expected, human.” Her pink tipped nails extended out into claws, and two fingers walked along his chest, up to his throat. “I hope that gives you some comfort in your final moments,” she said condescendingly.

“Fuck you, bitch.”

“Tsk Tsk Tsk,” she shook her head and made an exaggerated frown. “That’s no way to treat a lady.”

“You’re not a lady. You’re a werewolf.” Popping open the lid of the jar, Stiles threw the wolfsbane in her face. She screamed and slashed at him, while trying to rub the powder out of her eyes. Stiles raised an arm up to shield his face, and received three scratches for it. She was only able to rage for a few seconds, before she fell over, unconscious. Heaving in breaths, Stiles used the tree to help himself up, and started running. 

The images came in flashes after that. Snarling faces would pop in and out from behind trees, bushes, and rocks, like some twisted game of whack-a-mole. A cut on his arm there, a slice across his stomach there. Down his back, his thigh, his chest. They laughed as he cried out. On and on it went, and on and on he ran. He wasn’t sure if it had been hours, or days. He wasn’t even sure if he was still in the preserve or not. Even when he fell to his knees and started crawling instead, a voice behind him, lower than the voice of anyone he knew, encouraged him to continue. 

“Go on, Stiles. Keep on running.”

“Don’t you want your friends to find you?”

“Come on, Stiles! You can do better than this.”

Wetness ran down his face. He wasn’t sure if it was sweat, blood, or tears. There was no way he was going to survive this. His dad was going to find the mangled remains of his body, and would never know what really happened. 

“Maybe you need a little boost. One of the supernatural variety.” The man shoved Stiles over with his foot. Laying on his back and staring at one of his captors, all he could focus on was the red eyes. Two twin blazes staring back at him. On Derek, they looked like rubies, something to be appreciated and admired. On this guy, they looked like fire behind the gates of hell, and he was the gatekeeper. 

The guy straddled Stiles' waist. Stiles weakly tried shoving him off and scratching at his eyes, but the more he struggled the more gleeful the man got. “I like you, Stiles. I really do. It’s going to be so much fun breaking you.” The blond grinned broadly, his fangs dropping down, as he pinned Stiles’ arms to the ground. He reared his head back, laughed like a lunatic as he stared at the moon, and ripped into Stiles shoulder with his teeth. 

  
  


Stiles awoke on the hard, cold exam table, gasping for breath. At first, he wasn’t sure where he was, since the world of his nightmares was so vivid. Once he took a deep inhale, he knew just by smell alone, that he was at the vet clinic. Opening his eyes warily, he saw his dad looking down at him with such relief on his face it made him want to cry. His father had been through hell this week, he knew. No words would come out of Stiles’ mouth, which was a rare thing. Instead, he leaned up just enough for his dad to wrap his arms around his back and hug him tightly. 

Stiles clenched his eyes shut, wishing to stay just like this forever. He could hear his dad’s heartbeat, beating fast but strong. It soothed the panic he could feel rising up in his chest. Opening his eyes, he saw Derek leaning against the door frame, his arms folded. He looked at the Stilinskis with an unreadable expression, but Stiles got the feeling that he was longing for a hug himself. For some kind of touch that came with  _ comfort _ , instead of pain. How long had it been since Derek had that? 

“Dad? Can I get some water?” His voice was raspy from misuse. 

John gently laid him back down on the table. “Of course, son.” He placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder on his way out. It was a small gesture, but it made Stiles love his dad even more, because apparently he had thought the same as Stiles had. 

“Hey, sourwolf.” 

“Hey, spazz.”

“That’s a terrible nickname,” Stiles smiled, even though it hurt to do so. 

“Like sourwolf is any better?”

“It’s descriptive.”

“So is yours.”

“Probably not anymore,” mentioned Stiles, the smile leaving his face. “If the bite can cure epilepsy and asthma, can it cure ADHD?”

“I’m not sure. I suppose it could, in theory.” Derek walked up beside him, placing his hand on Stiles’ arm with a feather light touch. Black lines started flowing down his arm, and up Derek’s. He could finally relax a little, since the pain wasn’t as noticeable. 

“Thanks.”

Derek didn’t respond, and they sat in silence for a while. His dad should definitely have been back with the water by now. Given that Stiles had been missing for a while, he thought his dad wouldn’t let him out of his sight. That meant his dad was leaving them alone for a reason.

“Derek, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s wrong? Besides the obvious.” He gestured at himself. 

“What makes you think that something’s wrong?” He was stalling.

Stiles snorted, even though it made him ache in weird places. “It’s Beacon Hills. Enough said.”

Derek smiled softly again. That was twice he had made Derek smile. He wanted to keep doing it. Derek deserved to smile everyday. 

“There’s nothing wrong, really. It’s just...different.”

“Okay? Tell me, please.”

Derek stood up, walked to the side to get a shiny metal tray, and sat back down on the stool. “Show me your eyes.”

“I don’t know how.”

Red bled into Derek’s own, and there was power in his voice. “Show me your eyes,” he demanded, something animalistic in his voice. And despite his bone deep exhaustion, Stiles found himself responding. He felt the burning in his eyes as his vision changed, became sharper. 

His alpha had given him an order, and he had followed it. Derek held up the tray so Stiles could see his own green eyes reflected back at him. 

“What the fuck?” he muttered, before his head fell back with a  _ thump _ and he slipped into unconsciousness once more. 


	9. Chpt. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up. We get some conflict between an obsessed vet, an alpha with control issues, and a Sheriff who is just about done with everything.

When Stiles wakes the second time, the first thing he notices is the voices surrounding him. One of those voices belonged to his dad. 

“He just passed out?”

“Yeah. He saw his reflection. It must have been too much for him.”

“That does not bode well, Derek. He must come to terms with his new nature, and learn to control it.”

“Thank you,  _ Alan _ .” Yep. That was definitely his dad’s annoyed voice. “That’s very helpful advice.” While his father was the no nonsense type, he was also understanding and patient. Hell, he had to be with Stiles for a son. His dad wasn’t the type to be rude, but Deaton did tend to have that effect on people. Stiles figured he should nip this in the bud before his dad started throwing punches. 

“You can stop talking about me like I’m not here.” 

“Stiles!” His dad grasped his hand. “How are you feeling, kiddo?”

He fluttered his eyes as they opened, and he saw his father’s concerned face above him. Now that he was able to take a good look at him, it seemed like he had aged ten years, and Stiles was filled with guilt. “I’m okay, dad.” He was not okay. He hadn’t even been awake long enough to process everything that had happened to him, but he wanted to reassure his dad, who fortunately seemed to buy it. 

“You do look better, son. Less…” John trailed off, unsure of what word he was looking for. He then gestured to Stiles entire body. 

He fought back a snort. “Thanks, pops.” He looked to the table beside him, which was now empty and smelling of disinfectant spray. “Where’s Isaac?”

“With Erica and Boyd,” answered Derek. “He’s still in bad shape, but he should be fine.”

“Stiles,” interrupted Deaton. “I’d like to run some tests, now that you’re awake.”

Stiles, like his father, was naturally suspicious of the vet. “What kind of tests?” he asked. His dad helped him sit up, and he winced at the pain, but did notice that most of his wounds were either healed or in the process of healing. 

“Just a few questions,” the man evaded, waving his hand like it was nothing to worry about. “Then some blood tests, a physical examination, and an assessment of your abilities.” 

His dad sighed heavily. “Not today. He’s still hurt, and everyone is exhausted. Your tests can wait.”

“On the contrary, Sheriff. I don’t think they can, nor should. So little is known about his kind, it would answer many unsolved questions that could be very important to the supernatural community. And I would also like to keep up with how much progress he makes over his new powers.”

“No.” Derek crossed his arms and sent the vet one of signature glares. 

“I must ask you to reconsider, Derek.” Deaton stared at the alpha imploringly. “I don’t think you understand how important this is.” 

“Still no.”

Deaton actually  _ huffed _ , and for the first time ever, seemed to be losing his cool. The Sheriff watched on in annoyance, and a hint of amusement. 

Deaton, now irate, continued on. “You are the alpha of Beacon Hills,” he told Derek, somehow making it sound like an accusation. “As such, it is your  _ responsibility _ -”

“My responsibility,” Derek interjected. “Is to take care of my pack.”

“But Stiles isn’t your beta. He isn’t a beta at all.”

“Yeah, about that. What, exactly, am I?” He tried to mentally flip through the bestiary, but could think of any creatures with glowing green eyes. His question was ignored as the two men kept arguing. 

“It doesn’t matter. He’s still pack. That makes this my call, and the answer is no.”

While Stiles was grateful that Derek was sticking up for him, and was elated to find out that he was considered a member of the pack after all, he was still his own person. This wasn’t Derek’s call, it was his. And he wasn’t about to let the alpha take that from him, even if he had good intentions. 

“Hey!” he yelled, startling all three men. “I’m right here. How about asking me what I want?”

His dad looked at him, and mouthed a silent apology. Derek was just looking at him curiously, like he was trying to figure Stiles out.  _ Good luck with that, buddy.  _

“Stiles,” Deaton consoled placatingly. “I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind to be making these decisions. You’ve been through a terrible trauma-”

“It’s  _ my _ body, and  _ my _ mind. Therefore, it’s  _ my _ choice. And the answer is no.”

“I cannot, and will not, condone this. Given how rare Stiles is, it is my duty as a member of the Druidic council-”

“The what?”

“-to report any and all anomalies.”

“My son is not an anomaly!”

“Yes, Sheriff. That is exactly what he is. And as the Emissary of Beacon Hills-”

“You’re not the Emissary anymore,” Derek reminded him, his teeth becoming pointier by the second. Deaton inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. 

“I am within my rights to conduct a thorough examination of the test subject.”

“I’m not a lab rat!” Stiles growled. He was tired of being ignored, and fed up with being left in the dark. He didn’t like how the men in the room were referring to him. He barely survived the fight for his life, and now they were forcing him to fight for his autonomy, too. Hadn’t he been through enough?

“Stiles,” John soothed, his hands up with his palms facing his son. “It’s alright. Just calm down.”

There was an acrid stench in the room, and he could hear three heartbeats thrumming quickly. Fear, his instincts told him. It was fear he was smelling. Were they afraid of him?

It was then that he noticed his hands were shaking, and his nails had sharpened into black claws that were as sharp as scalpels. There was a rumbling sound, a warning. He thought it was coming from Derek at first, but it wasn’t. It was coming from his own body. His canines were starting to sharpen to a point as they descended. It was a grotesque feeling. 

Was he losing control? Was he going to go half feral like Scott did during those first couple of full moons? He was dangerous now. Deadly. He could hurt them all. 

“Stiles. Stiles, look at me.”

He brought his eyes up to meet Derek’s. “Calm down.” The alpha slowly approached him. A part of Stiles wanted to growl and snap at him, wanted to warn him to back off. The other part of him longed for Derek to come closer, to comfort him and settle the anxiety running rampant in his body. He forced himself to hold still as Derek placed a warm hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. 

It was a solid, comforting weight. The older man was applying just the right amount of pressure, not enough to hurt, but enough to maintain a sense of control. 

“Breathe,” Derek whispered. “Close your eyes, and listen. Find one sound to focus on.”

Stiles followed the alpha’s directions. There were so many sounds, but he tried to concentrate on just his dad’s heartbeat. That steady beat with just the occasional blip. He listened to it for a while, and like a lullaby, it soothed him. When he opened his eyes again, his hands were and teeth were back to normal, and he felt calmer. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. He was ashamed that he had lost control so easily. 

“It’s not your fault, son.”

“This is what I was talking about,” said Deaton. “He is too unpredictable.”

“ _ Every _ newly turned shifter is. Control has to be taught.”

“By you?” Deaton said condescendingly as he arched an eyebrow. “You weren’t able to teach Scott a single thing, and he was a werewolf like you. What makes you think you can help Stiles?”

Deaton had a point. Stiles had been the one to help Scott, but that was only because Scott refused to accept help from Derek. Sure, the born wolf wasn’t exactly friendly, and made a terrible first impression, but he didn’t deserve to be put down for something that really wasn’t his fault. A part of Stiles was irritated that the druid would dare talk to his alpha that way. Whatever he was now, whatever they weren’t telling him, when it came down to it, he still trusted Derek more than the Deaton. 

“Before, I thought you were just a pretentious asshole.” Stiles grinned in delight at the surprise on the vet’s face. “Now, I think you’re a  _ speciest _ pretentious asshole with a God complex.”

Stiles slid his legs over the side of the table and slipped off. His knees buckled under his weight, but Derek caught him before he fell to the floor. He felt like a swooning damsel, or a newborn colt, judging by the shakiness of his legs. 

“Dad?”

“Son?” John mimicked. 

“Take me home.”


	10. Chpt. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Scott have an argument. Derek, John, and Stiles try to figure things out.

“Stiles!” Scott exclaimed as they exited the clinic. Apparently, he had been waiting outside the whole time. There was a mess of emotions in Stiles. He was angry at Scott for ignoring him, hurt that he was just abandoned when he needed help the most. He was also relieved to see that his best friend was okay, and his chest ached with the need to hug him, but he held back. 

Scott approached him, his arms opened wide like he was about to envelope Stiles in a bro hug. Instead, once he was close enough, Stiles punched him in the face, making him stumble back and hold his nose. 

Stiles could sense the surprise coming from his father and Derek. And maybe a little bit from Deaton, who was undoubtedly watching them from the clinic’s front window. Scott pulled his hand away, glancing at the red on his palm, before turning a bewildered gaze on Stiles. “What the hell?”

“You’ll heal.” 

It looked like Scott was going to say something in retaliation, but his expression quickly changed to one of remorse. “I deserved that.”

“You’re damn right you did. None of this would have happened if you had just answered  _ one _ phone call. Just  _ one _ ! But no, you were too busy living out your stupid Romeo and Juliet romance with Allison, the  _ hunter _ whose entire family has tried to kill you.”

“I know. I’m really sorry,” Scott began, his brown eyes wide and sincere. “But this isn’t Allison’s fault.”

“There you go again! Always defending her. But you’re right, this isn’t her fault. It’s yours.” Stiles didn’t really mean it. Something in him wanted to hurt Scott, either physically or emotionally. There was a vindictive side to him now, and he didn’t like it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control his shaking limbs. He was too weak to argue, too tired and hungry. All Stiles wanted to do was to go home and sleep for days.

“It was your fault that I was bitten, but I never held that over you,” Scott sulked. 

“Are you kidding me?” There went what little control he had. “I didn’t know werewolves existed then. If I had known Peter Hale was roaming around as a crazy rage beast, I never would’ve taken you out there. This is different, Scott. After everything we’ve been through, you know that there are dangers out there now that we didn’t know about before.” 

“I know I messed up, okay? I get it. But everything is okay now, right? You’re just like me.”

“Like you,” Stiles growled out, flashing his green eyes. “Does it look like I’m ‘just like you’. I was fine being  _ human _ .” 

Scott’s posture, which up until that point had turned defensive, changed completely. He let out a deep sigh and his shoulders slumped, as he gazed defeatedly at the ground. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I don’t know what else to say,” he shrugged, at a loss. 

“Neither do I,” Stiles admitted brokenly, all the fight leaving him. That bone deep exhaustion shook through him again, and he wanted to go home. His dad, bless him, must have sensed that this was the best time to intervene, and stepped forward between the two boys. “Scott, the two of you can talk this out tomorrow. Stiles needs his rest.” John placed a hand on Scott’s shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look. Scott simply nodded, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. He turned around and went back to his mother’s car, and drove away. Stiles resisted the urge to chase after him. 

It felt like everything was falling apart. 

A warm hand came to rest on the back of his neck, secure and proprietary. “We should get you home. I need to check on the betas,” Derek said in a surprisingly soft voice. Stiles took strength in the wave of calm radiating from the older man, and wordlessly followed his dad to the police cruiser. 

  
  
  
  


When they finally reached home, his dad put in an order for pizza, while Stiles excused himself to the bathroom. He desperately needed a shower. The pounding of the water felt good on his sore muscles, and it helped to drown out the other intruding sounds around them. He was still having trouble filtering out obnoxious noises like car horns and dog barks. 

Once he was out of the shower and toweling off, he ran his finger over the scar on his stomach. It had mostly healed, past the point of getting infected, at least. He was lucky to be alive, but still hoped the scar would fade with time, as Stiles didn’t want another reminder of what had happened to him. 

Assessing himself in the mirror, he noticed that his brown eyes were a bit lighter, more vibrant. His hair had grown just a bit, and looked shinier. His complexion was as smooth as a child’s, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was some muscle definition there where there hadn’t been before. Still, he dressed in the baggiest pajamas he owned.

Padding his way downstairs just in time to see his dad laying out the pizza, his mouth watered. John stacked three plates high with cheesy meat topped slices, and squinted his eyes in warning at Stiles, who quickly shut his mouth. He was about to scold his dad, suggesting he eat something healthier, but honestly the man deserved some greasy goodness after what he’d been through. 

Once they were seated at the table, Stiles asked the obvious. “What am I going to tell people when I suddenly turn back up.”

“You went for a drive and a mountain lion ran out in front of you. You swerved out of the way, and wrecked your jeep. You were injured, and you were going to flag down help from the next car. Then you noticed the mountain lion slowly approaching you, so you took off into the preserve, and got lost.” It was the most Stiles had ever heard Derek speak. He was kind of proud of him. 

“That’s...actually pretty believable.”

“It’s what most people thought anyway. A variation of it, at least.” John wiped his mouth with a napkin, and looked at Derek. “So, what can you tell us about werefoxes?” John asked, before whispering to himself, “I can believe that I’m having to say that.”

“Unfortunately, not much. Like I said, I’ve never actually met one. There was a nearby pack that had one, though. I’ll see if I can get in touch with them. 

“Why are they so rare?” John asked. 

“The gene can’t be transferred from a bite like the werewolf gene. It’s hereditary only, and hunters tend to wipe them out before they reach adulthood.”

“So, how did I become one?”

“It must have been in your family line at some point. It skipped generations, and I guess getting the bite just...jump started it,” Derek mused. 

“Like with Lydia?”

“Is she a werewolf, too? She seemed normal,” the Sheriff paused, feeling shame at what he just said. “I didn’t mean  _ normal _ , I meant human. Not that being human is normal. I mean it is, but being a werewolf is apparently pretty normal, too.” 

“Easy, dad.” It actually did bother him a bit that his dad classified him as something abnormal now, even subconsciously, but he knew it wasn’t his fault. “It’s okay. I know what you meant.”

“Stiles has never been normal,” Derek deadpanned, causing John to snort. 

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Hey! This is not a game of Gang Up on Stiles.” He threw glares at both men, and wagged his finger between them. “I don’t know if I like this relationship.”

It was a lie. He loved the idea of his dad and Derek getting along, considering their not so stellar meetings in the past. A part of him also really wanted Derek to feel comfortable around the Stilinski men. He knew it had been a long time since the older man experienced a family atmosphere.

“Why don’t we focus back on the subject at hand. Lydia is human, right?”

“Technically. Peter bit her but she didn’t turn. She also didn’t reject the bite. We thought she was immune, but I think something did change. It just wasn’t the change we were expecting.”

“So, she’s not a werewolf, but she’s not human, either?” 

“Right,” Derek answered. “She’s definitely something. Whatever she is, it’s something fundamental. Something in her blood, like you.”

“So, I had a great great grandfather twice removed with this werefox gene?”

“Technically, it would have been a great great grand _ mother _ . That’s what’s even stranger about this. I’ve only ever heard of werefoxes being female.”

“So not only am I an endangered species, I’m also defying gender norms?”

“Looks that way.”

“What was this council Alan was talking about?” John asked. 

“The Druidic council. Not much is known about it. It’s a closely guarded secret among the druids. All I know is what my mother told Laura. There are strict rules they have to follow. Druids try to maintain balance, and they can’t do that if they don’t know what’s going on around them.”

“Which means he’ll definitely report Stiles’...changes.”

“I’m sure he’s doing it as we speak.”

“What does that mean for us?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t remember my mother ever dealing with them directly.”

“Do you think Zombiewolf knows anything about them?” Stiles reluctantly suggested. 

“Zombies?!” John exclaimed, dropping his pizza on his plate. “We have zombies now, too?”

“No,” Stiles reassured him. “But also yes.”

“Stiles,” John said with exasperation. 

Derek rolled his eyes. “He’s talking about my uncle Peter. He’s not a zombie. Just a werewolf.” 

“But he  _ did _ come back from the dead,” supplied Stiles. John rubbed his hands over his face, sighing in exhaustion. 

“This is a little much for me to handle all in one day. If we’re not in immediate danger,” he looked to Derek, who shook his head. “Then I’m going to get a couple hours of sleep before the station calls me about strange deaths at the high school, and I have to lie to my own deputies.”

Stiles flinched in guilt. His dad was a good and honest man, but here he was, prepared to go against what he believed in to lie for his son. He had already gotten his father fired once, and here he was risking his dad’s career again. 

While his dad thankfully didn’t notice Stiles’ reaction, Derek did. There was a brief flicker of warmth in his chest then. He felt comforted by it, and while he didn’t understand  _ how _ it was happening, he knew Derek was the one causing it. 

Stiles held onto that comfort as he hugged his dad goodnight. 

“You ever disappear on me again, and you’re grounded for life.” Though John’s tone was teasing, he smelled bitter like burnt almonds. Unpleasant and wrong.

“Derek, you’re welcome to stay the night.” He gave a not so subtle look between his son and the older man. “On the  _ couch _ .”

Stiles resisted the urge to faceplant, and desperately hoped he wasn’t blushing. “ _Good_ _night_ , dad.”

“Night, kid.” John had a knowing smile on his face. “Night, Derek.”

“Goodnight, Sheriff.” 

John snorted. “Son, we’ve fought a humongous werewolf together, and you helped save my son’s life. I think you’ve earned the right to call me John.”

Derek didn’t say anything, just nodded once, and John ascended the stairs. A few moments later, there was the soft  _ snick _ of a door closing. 

“I think that’s the first time he’s ever called something other than ‘Hale’.” 

Stiles chuckled, avoiding the alpha’s eyes. “He’s taking this surprisingly well.”

“Don’t worry, the reality of the situation will hit him in the morning.”

“Wonderful. He can have an existential crisis for breakfast.” He finally met Derek’s gaze. “What if I lose control tonight?”

“Do you feel out of control?”

“Not really. There’s this...restlessness in me. Something jittery, like the fox is trying to break out or something.”

“You’re newly turned, just coming into your power. It’s like that for everyone.”

“But if I can’t control it? What if I let it take over and I end up hurting someone? What if I hurt my dad?”

“I won’t let that happen. I’ll stay close. If you need me, I’ll know.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said. He was grateful that Derek was trying to help, and was glad to see that he had made strides in becoming a better alpha. “Not just for that. Thanks for coming for me, I wasn’t sure anyone would.”

“Of course we came for you,” Derek looked at the teen confusedly. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know,” he crossed his arms, feeling insecure. “I mean, I wasn’t in your pack, and Scott was...busy.” Derek noticed the bitterness in Stiles’ tone.

“You’ve saved my life. You helped save my beta’s lives. And Scott would definitely have murdered someone by now if you hadn’t been there to help him. You may not have been in my pack completely, but you were close enough.”

This was news to Stiles. He just figured that you either pack or weren’t, that there was no in between. “And now?” he asked, trying to mask the hopefulness in his voice.

Derek concentrated on the bond he felt to Stiles, imagined it like a golden string connecting them. He tried to send the feeling of acceptance along the wire, in the hopes that Stiles would understand without Derek having to use words. 

Stiles rubbed at his chest, right over his heart, and smiled. “That is so weird. What is it exactly?”

Derek replied simply with, “A pack bond.”

“Will you teach me how to do that? The emotion transfer thing?” 

“Yes. We can start your training whenever you’re ready.” Preferably, Derek would rather start it right away, but he knew Stiles had been through a lot, and may resent being a werefox since he was turned against his will. Not everyone saw the bite as a gift. 

“I don’t know if I’m up to fight just yet, Coach.”

Derek gave a playful growl, causing Stiles to grin. “Never call me that again.”

“Fine. How about alpha?” 

Brown eyes met green. Derek’s chest ached with something he hadn’t felt in a long time. For years, he had been dreading each coming day, expecting nothing good to come of them. Now, he felt the stirrings of hope, and looked forward to the oncoming days. 

“Alpha sounds good.”


	11. Chpt. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has some bad dreams, and Derek is there to comfort him.

Stiles was dead asleep the second his head hit the pillow. The exhaustion and the trauma from the past couple of days wore on him, and he just couldn’t stay awake any longer. The memories came in flashes, like the way one would turn on a blinker, signaling intent of direction.

He dreamt of an unassuming black car with tinted windows that prevented him from fully seeing the person inside. The same black car that just so happened to appear behind him on his way to school. The same car that pulled beside him at the gas station, and stayed the entire time he filled up. That same car was conveniently sitting at the grocery store he frequented. Once was an incident, twice was a coincidence, three times was a pattern. 

His dream shifted to his bedroom, where he recalled peering out in the dead of night, imagining seeing flashing blue eyes in the dark. Eyes that he knew Derek no longer had. There was the perpetual feeling of being followed at the mall, the suspicion of someone lurking behind him, the near obsessive need to peek around corners in the hopes of catching the mystery person in the act, but ultimately finding no one. 

His unconscious mind slipped away again, this time to a dream of danger, of fear and trepidation. A dream where Isaac hadn’t saved his dad, who was then ravaged by the rabid alpha. A dream where Tori had succeeded in tearing Scott’s throat wide open, where Lydia’s mace hadn’t worked and Jackson never showed. All had been very real possibilities that they had narrowly escaped. It was a nightmare of a different sort, based in reality. The next one was not. 

Stiles was on his back on a cold hard surface, a blinding light swaying ominously above him. He couldn’t move, his limbs feeling like they were cemented to the table. Deaton came from the shadows, bearing a scalpel. The calm indifference on his face, combined with the sharp weapon, made for a sinister sight. 

“Don’t be scared, Mr. Stilinski. This is for the best.” Scalpel gleaming, the vet slowly approached him in the same fashion that a zookeeper might approach an injured tiger, cautious and calculating. Stiles wanted to scream for help, but his voice could rise no louder than a strained croak. There was movement in the shadows, and he felt relief that perhaps someone had heard him after all. His dad came forward, the Sheriff’s badge gleaming in the harsh light. 

“This is all your good for now, Stiles,” John said, his eyes blank and unfeeling. “You’re not my son anymore. You’re just a monster now.”

Tears burned in Stiles’ eyes, but they never rolled down. It was as if they, too, were stuck in place. His heart beat in his chest violently, painfully. Red eyes glowed in the dim background, before the alpha stepped forward. 

“Why would I want someone like  _ you _ in my pack?” Derek mocked scornfully, a disappointed scowl on his face. “You’re useless. You couldn’t even protect yourself.”

_ It’s not my fault,  _ Stiles wanted to say.  _ I was attacked. It was planned. I did the best that I could.  _

“This is for the best,” Deaton repeated. While Stiles’ body was paralyzed, his eyes were not. He was able to follow the path of the scalpel as it came closer and closer. He wanted to yell for help, to break free of his invisible bonds, but could do neither. All he could do was watch in terror as the blade came down to his chest, pressed in, and dragged down towards his abdomen. The pain was excruciating, and all he could see was crimson  _ everywhere _ . His heart beat erratically as it was exposed to open air. He couldn’t breathe...he couldn’t breathe...he couldn’t…

“Stiles. Stiles!” Derek called out, shaking the teen aggressively. 

Stiles shot up in bed, gasping for air. He touched his chest just to prove to himself that it was still intact. There was no blood. It was just a bad dream, a nightmare. He took heaving breaths, trying to calm himself. He became aware of just how closely Derek was sitting to him. Stiles had his claws extended, digging into Derek’s arm. He shakily opened his hands, pulling his claws out and swallowing heavily at the sight of the blood trickles he left behind. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

“It’s okay,” Derek reassured him. “It’s already healing.” 

“Still.”

“Everything okay?” John inquired. He was standing in the doorway, the hall light framing his outline. His face held a look of pure concern, so unlike the way he looked in the dream. It was such a relieving feeling, Stiles let himself flop back down on the bed. 

“Yeah, pops. Everything’s okay?”

“Derek?” John asked. 

A brief spike of irritation flared up in Stiles. His father clearly didn’t trust his judgment, and was now asking Derek to answer the same question. But the feeling didn’t last long, considering he had gouged his claws into Derek just moments before. Maybe his father was right to worry. 

“Everything’s fine now,” Derek replied softly, his scrutinizing gaze never leaving Stiles’ face. 

“Are you sure? I could stay…”

“No. It’s alright. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here,” Stiles grumbled. 

John rubbed at his eyes, and tried to stifle a yawn. “If you’re sure?” he trailed off. 

“I am.”

“Then I’m gonna hit the sack. If you boys need me, you know where to find me.” The door shut behind him with a quiet  _ snick _ . 

Now that they were alone, Stiles felt a little awkward. “Sorry. Again.”

“Stop apologizing. I’m fine.” Derek showed him his now fully healed arm. The quickly drying blood was the only reminder that it had even happened at all. Before he could stop himself, Stiles reached out to run his fingers along the crimson lines, feeling for any abnormalities and finding none. Derek’s skin was warm to the touch, the fine black hairs were soft under his fingertips. 

Derek covered Stiles’ hand with his own, and lingered there long enough to give his hand a surprisingly gentle squeeze. Once Stiles’ hand was released, he pulled away. He couldn’t explain it, but there was an intimacy between them that was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. 

“Get some sleep,” Derek spoke in a hushed voice, before rising from the bed and crossing the room to sit in Stiles’ computer chair. 

“You don’t have to stay and guard me like a sentinel all night,” Stiles said. 

“I know,” Derek replied simply. 

“Well, then…” Stiles cleared his throat. “I’ll just go back to sleep.” It sounded more like a question, and the older man fought back a smile. 

“You do that.”

Stiles snuggled down into his blankets even though he wasn’t the slightest bit cold. Under different circumstances, he might have turned over to have his back facing Derek. Instead, he laid on his side, facing the alpha. There was something about Derek’s unwavering gaze that made him feel at peace, made him feel safe. His eyes drifted shut, and before he knew it he had slipped back into slumber. 

Stiles didn’t have any more nightmares that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the election has made a lot of people, including myself, pretty nervous because the future seems so uncertain right now. I just wanted to let you guys know that no matter what happens, we'll get through it. Giving everyone an imaginary hug. <3


	12. Chpt. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets some time with the Stilinski men, and the boys get competitive.

The next morning, Stiles stumbled downstairs while rubbing his eyes. He yawned so big he missed a step. Normally, that would have led to an injury, but this time he had agility on his side, and caught himself. Deciding to take an easier route, he hoisted himself over the banister, landing on his feet with surprising grace. His father, who had been making his way to the table with an overfilled plate of breakfast foods, stopped in his tracks and blinked. 

Stiles peered at his father’s plate suspiciously. “Is that turkey bacon? That had better be turkey bacon?”

“Son,” John replied in exasperation. “Turkey cannot, and will never be, bacon. It’s just not right.”

“Whatever,” he muttered. “It’s healthier.”

“Which is why it tastes awful.”

Stiles was going to come up with some witty retort, but then he looked closely at his father. He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept at all. He hadn’t shaved, and the sag in his shoulders made him appear weary. All the fight left Stiles. 

“Fine,” he relented. “I guess you’ve earned the good stuff.”

“Damn right.”

“Where’s Derek?”

“In the kitchen finishing up.”

“Finishing up? You’re making our guest do all the work.”

John shrugged, digging into his eggs. “He offered to cook. I let him.”

“Derek can cook?”

“I can cook,” Derek said, popping up seemingly out of nowhere with two plates. 

“Jesus! Warn a guy next time!” Stiles exclaimed, a hand clutched over his heart. 

Derek rolled his eyes and shoved one of the plates at Stiles. “I shouldn’t have to warn you. You should have been able to tell that I was in there, by scent or by hearing my heartbeat. We’ll work on that.”

“So is that what’s on the agenda for today, Yoda?” Stiles asked Derek. “I’m assuming I won’t be going to school.”

“Definitely not,” Derek agreed. 

“Nobody is going to school. It’s been shut down for the day, since it’s still a crime scene.” John reminded them. He stared pointedly at Stiles as he shoved a whole slice of bacon in his mouth. 

“Yeah….how’d that go?”

“About as well as could be expected,” John sighed. “It was a ridiculous story, but Beacon Hills is a ridiculous town, so there wasn’t too much of a fuss. Just a lot of confusion.”

Another spike of guilt went through Stiles. It was his fault his dad was in this mess in the first place. Once again, his job was jeopardized because of Stiles’ stupid actions. Derek, who smelled the negative emotions, casually rubbed his arm up against Stiles’ in an attempt to comfort him. 

It didn’t really, but he appreciated the sentiment, and nudged Derek back.

John surreptitiously glanced between the two, and cleared his throat. “I should be getting back to the office, actually. Get started on all that paperwork and whatnot.”

John stood up and took his plate to the kitchen, rinsing it off. Derek and Stiles sat in comfortable silence while they finished their breakfast. At one point, Stiles stole a piece of scrambled egg off Derek’s plate and ate it, smiling around his fork as Derek playfully growled. 

“Thanks for breakfast, Derek.” John said, as he put on his coat. “It was great. Much better than what I’m used to.”

“Hey!” Stiles squawked. 

“Anytime,” Derek replied easily. 

“You boys behave,” said the Sheriff as he left, causing Stiles to facepalm at the insinuation, which Derek thankfully ignored. The two were rinsing their own plates out when Derek said, “You have a visitor.” Judging from the scowl on Derek’s face, he wasn’t too happy about it. The doorbell rang, causing Stiles to cover his sensitive ears. It rang again before Derek growled out, “Just get in here.”

He placed his hands over Stiles’, pulling them gently away from his ears. The alpha’s warm fingers lingered for a moment before letting go.  _ God, he smells good,  _ Stiles thought. Like leather, and that smell in the air when the trees shed their leaves in the fall. It was soothing, inviting, and ultimately distracting. He blames Derek’s scent for not realizing that Scott had entered the house. 

The floppy haired boy was standing a few feet away, obviously feeling awkward. It didn’t sit right with Stiles, because Scott had been to his house countless times over the years, and had always made himself right at home. It was uncomfortable, and Stiles didn’t know what to say or do to change it.

“Hey, Scottie.”

“Hey,” he replied, pleased with hearing his nickname. “Hey, Derek.”

Derek barely grunted in acknowledgement. Scott, like Stiles, was used to Derek’s surly behavior, and therefore was not fazed by the lackluster greeting. 

“What’s up?” Stiles asked. 

Scott shrugged. “With school being out, I thought I’d come over and help you. You know, like you helped me.”

“Thanks, buddy.” A part of Stiles was warmed by the knowledge that Scott was finally trying to look out for  _ him _ for a change. He vividly remembered how volatile Scott was when he was just bitten, so Stiles would take all the help he could get. The other part of him just wanted to be alone with the alpha, without the scrutiny. 

He didn’t want either to leave, but he didn’t want  _ both _ to stay. 

“We’re going to the depot to start training,” Derek said gruffly, his voice leaving no room for argument. Unfortunately, that voice had no effect on Scott. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked, a touch condescendingly. “I mean, Stiles is probably still tired, and I think maybe he should lay low for a few days. Everybody’s talking about your return.”

“He can  _ lay low _ just fine at the depot. Training can’t wait. I’ll teach him the basics, so it won’t be too strenuous. If you come with us, I expect you to practice, too.”

Stiles barely resisted the urge to cover his face with his hands. Things seemed to be going south fast, as Scott leveled a glare at the older man, a tint of gold reflecting in his eyes. “You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my alpha. And you're not his, either.”

Derek, who had been showing a surprising amount of tolerance considering he was, you know,  _ Derek _ , had had enough. His eyes flared red, the alpha power emanating from his entire being. Stiles could sense it in the room all around them. It felt dangerous and deadly, but the tell tale ache in his chest told him that it was really just Derek’s protective instinct lashing out. His wolf didn’t like being told that Stiles wasn’t his. 

“If you’re not training with us, then we’re done here. Let’s go, Stiles.” He called over his shoulder, not sparing a glance at Scott and he brushed aside him on his way out. The obvious dismissal only annoyed Scott more. 

“Stop telling him what to do! He’s my pack, not yours!”

Derek stopped in his tracks. His back was stiff, and he jerked his neck around like he was clinging to control. “Stop saying that,” he warned Scott as he turned around, teeth bared. Scott, bless him, actually tried to square up against the alpha, even though he was shorter and had far less muscles. He growled as his own fangs dropped down. 

“Okay…” Stiles said nervously, eyes darting between the two men. “Let’s just take it easy.” Truth be told, Stiles wasn’t sure where he stood on the whole pack thing. Scott was his bro, and he was in his pack before he was turned. But Stiles also thought he was sort of Derek’s pack, or at least on the outskirts of it, considering how much they had worked together in the past. Regardless, it wasn’t a decision he wanted to make right now. 

“Scott, we still need to finish our conversation from yesterday.” His friend backed down immediately at the reminder, his anger wasting away to regret, as he gazed at Stiles with those puppy dog eyes of his. 

“And Derek, you need to find a suitable place to live. Somewhere that isn’t an abandoned train car, or the burnt out shell of your old house.” Derek huffed and looked away, but also seemed to calm down some. 

“As much as I love the idea of two guys fighting over me,” Stiles gestured up and down his body. “You’re going to have to get over yourselves, and get along. We’re all in this mess together now, and I’m going to need help from the both of you.”

“You’re right,” Scott agreed, looking guiltily at Derek. “I’ll go with you to the train depot. There is a lot I don’t know about being a werewolf, and I should probably learn. I may not be your pack, but I did say that I wouldn't mind being allies. So, let’s go.”

Derek squinted his eyes at Scott dubiously, which was honestly pretty adorable, if you asked Stiles, before muttering a reluctant, “Fine.”

Stiles clapped his hands together, wincing at the loud sound it made. “Great! This is going to be great!”

  
  
  
  


Spoiler alert, it was not great. Scott and Derek contradicted each other at every turn. If Scott said to be careful, Derek said to trust your instincts. If Derek said to be aware of his surroundings, Scott told him to focus on the fight. If one of them had said the sky was blue, the other would have said it was green. 

A headache quickly formed between Stiles’ eyes. He didn’t think it was even possible for him to  _ get _ headaches now. Besides the back and forth power display from the two wolves, Stiles actually kind of enjoyed his training so far. Like Derek had said, they started with the basics. Stiles learned to control his shift, and was able to really tell the difference between their forms. Werewolves had thick foreheads, disappearing eyebrows, and they sprouted sideburns. Whereas his own face shifted into more angular lines, most notably at his cheeks and chin. His eyes were a luminescent green, and his fangs were smaller than theirs, but very pointy. He had accidentally bitten his lip three times already. Fortunately, it healed quickly. His claws weren’t as thick, either, though still sharp. 

Ultimately, Stiles figured he didn’t look  _ too _ ridiculous. 

Next, they worked on their senses. Scott, who had months of experience, had become pretty good at hearing things. Stiles, however, was great at hearing. A little too great, as he sometimes had difficulty filtering out all the noise. Derek hadn’t been surprised at that. He had said that a werewolf’s best sense was their sense of smell, whereas for werefoxes it was their hearing. Scott seemed a little annoyed at how quickly Stiles caught on to things. He was by no means a natural, but he did better at training than he expected. He always did learn quickly. 

After only a couple of hours, Scott had grown tired of their basic training. His attention span wavered between trying to listen to what Derek was saying, and staring at his phone longingly. Stiles could tell that Derek was nearing the end of his patience. 

“Dude,” he started. “If there’s something else you need to do…”

“No!” Scott exclaimed a little too quickly, his voice an octave higher than normal. “No. I said I would stay and help you, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Seriously, Scottie. It’s okay. Derek still needs to teach me things, and it’s probably stuff you already know, so if you need to go to work or something, it’s totally fine.” Truthfully, Stiles kind of wished Scott would go, and immediately felt bad for thinking that. Scott was at least making an effort to help, but his and Derek’s constant bickering was getting on his nerves, and playing peacekeeper was exhausting. And a tiny part of him could admit that he just wanted to spend some time with Derek, just the two of them. Stiles wanted the alpha’s undivided attention. 

“Well, I guess...I mean, if you’re sure?”

“I’m sure, buddy.”

Scott looked relieved. “Thanks, man. If you need anything…”

“I’ll call.”

The two hugged it out, and Scott left. The next couple of hours were spent honing his skills. Derek had even taught him a few fighting stances. They also raced each other from one end of the depot to the other, so they could test his speed. Stiles was delighted to note that he beat Derek by a few seconds. 

“You’re fast,” Derek said. “ _ Really _ fast.” 

“Yeah,” he agreed excitedly. “I was, wasn’t I?”

“Mmhmm. Now let’s see how strong you are.”

Stiles grinned. “You’re on.”


End file.
